I'll Be Seeing You
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: "They know it's wrong, they know that it's forbidden - but she his life force, his very reason for living and he is her opium, a powerful addiction she cannot and will not give up." Brought together by fate and torn apart by war, this is the story of first loves and last chances in a world that neither of them were meant for.
1. Prologue: February 1920

_**This is a repost of a story that I know a few people have been interested in for a while now and which I never had time to work on - Now that Once Upon a December is all but done, I think it's time I picked it up again. I've made one or two changes, hence the repost, bit hopefully updates will come much more frequently this time. Enjoy! :) x**_

* * *

_**February 1920**_

He doesn't think he's ever run so fast in his entire life, not even when they'd gone over the top during those few horrifying years he'd spent wallowing in mud and an all manner of other rather unpleasant things in some godforsaken French field, dodging German shells and bullets. War has changed him, just as it has changed everyone. He thought it had changed the way he felt about her but he couldn't have been further from the truth. It takes him a moment or two to realise that he hasn't been imagining things when he sees her on the other side of the street. He feels that familiar tug on his heartstrings that he used to get every time he saw her during that summer in Ireland when they'd first met - that summer so long ago now that it almost seems like a different life. It's only now that he realises just how much of a boy he had been then - a foolish boy blinded by his first love - compared to the man he'd been forced to become from the second they put that rifle in his hand and expected him to kill without question.

She is as breathtakingly beautiful as ever - quite the woman now, he notices. He doesn't even stop to consider the consequences of his actions, nor what he'll even say to her (a simple hello will suffice), as he sprints down Piccadilly, not caring that he's drawing rather strange looks from disgruntled pedestrians as he barges past them. None of them matter though - only she does. If it weren't for the traffic drowning everything out, he would have screamed her name as loud as his lungs would possibly allow.  
He stops dead in his tracks as he watches her enter the Ritz. Nausea takes hold of him as a completely different feeling grabs hold of his heart, this one ripping it clean out of his chest and leaving it in a bloody mess on the pavement at his feet.  
She isn't alone, and he knows he's been a fool to think for one second that she'd wait for him.


	2. A Different Kind of Air

"_What no-one ever sees is that there's this whole other part of me that's just like you: quiet, and-and stubborn, and afraid of showing too much... and then I met someone who changed everything and he showed me that I can take a chance even when it's only for a moment_."

**Lena Kaligaris - The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants **

Sybil Crawley is in love with Ireland. Having grown up in the English countryside, she's used to the rolling green fields and endless expanse of clear blue sky, but there's something quite different about County Wicklow. She wonders if it's merely the fact that she's been breathing a different type of air at long last, and that the peace and tranquillity is so refreshing after her debut season in London. Her mother's cousin's daughter (so her cousin too, she supposed) is getting married and the Crawleys have been invited over for the wedding. Sybil and Cathleen Donnelly have always been close, their friendship blossoming mostly through letters, but on the rare occasions they could enjoy each other's company, the pair were inseparable. Sybil had been delighted when she had learnt of Cathleen's engagement and, from the time she had spent with him, she'd learnt that John Moran, a barrister from Dublin (and more fondly known as Jack), was a wonderful young man who made her Cathleen blissfully happy - No woman could ever want more than that for her best friend.

**_-xxx-_**

With much negotiation and persuasion, Cathleen and Sybil had convinced their parents to let them walk down into the village after dinner on midsummer's eve. Accompanied by Jack, his brother, Danny, and Danny's wife Alice, talk turns to the impending nuptials.

"Where will you go, when you're married?" asks Sybil, walking arm in arm with her cousin.

"I'm going to go up to Dublin with Jack. We thought about staying here for a while, but it doesn't really make much sense. It'll be so nice to be in the city after being here all my life." Cathleen's father was a wealthy property developer; he'd made his fortune quite young and had been in New York on business when he'd met Emily Levinson. Like Cathleen and Sybil, Cora and Emily had been close growing up, and had remained so even now the Irish Sea separated them.

Sybil smiles, glad to see her cousin so happy. "Where exactly are we going?"

"To a wedding - There is a tradition here that the whole village comes together to celebrate a marriage," says Cathleen. "Oh I do wish ours could be the same, but something tells me your grandmother wouldn't take too well to sharing a Guinness or two with old farmer Docherty."

Sybil giggles, that image was definitely one that wouldn't leave her for a very long time to come. "Alright. But you heard Papa; I can't be back too late. I'm already skating on thin ice where he's concerned."

"The Ripon incident?" asks Jack with a smirk.

"The Ripon incident," she agrees, her fingers subconsciously reaching up to trace the tiny scar in her hairline. Sybil's first encounter with politics hadn't exactly been what she anticipated, having resulted in a slight concussion, a tongue lashing from her father, and almost costing the poor chauffer his job (he was a frightfully boring man though, even if she did feel bad for deceiving him. Sybil can't help but wonder if there will ever come a day when her father would employ somebody she could actually talk to - yes, there had been Gwen, but she'd gone now, having moved on to bigger and brighter things working as a secretary, and it suddenly dawns on Sybil that she's never actually had any real friends - which was rather sad). Still, at least Mary had received a marriage proposal out of it all - actually, that hadn't ended well either, come to think of it. Sybil still thinks her eldest sister a fool for rejecting Matthew, and it makes her think that perhaps there is more to it than anyone was letting on. Perhaps she'll discover the truth one day but, for now, all she knows is that her sisters are being insufferable - and that's saying something given how they usually behave towards one another. It was something of a blessing to get out of the house.

**_-xxx-_**

There was music, dancing, and laughter on such a scale that Sybil had never seen before. She had graced some of the grandest ballrooms in London in recent weeks and yet they were nothing compared to this. People seemed so happy and conversation spilled freely. The bride and groom looked positively radiant - a rare sight at the weddings she had attended over the years. 'Her people' (oh how Sybil loathed that phrase) usually married for money and duty. Such a prospect for herself both sickened and saddened Sybil, but such was her lot in life and, in all honesty, she had little else to complain about. Or so she told herself.

From across the dancefloor, she sees Jack's brother, Danny, beckon her enthusiastically towards a table in the far corner of the room. As Sybil begins to push her way through the swirling mass of couples, she's caught completely off guard as she's swept up into the arms of a random stranger. He twirls her one before she looks up into what had to be the most beautiful pair of eyes that she's ever seen.

"Such a beautiful lady shouldn't be alone on a night like this," he says with a warm, kind smile.

Sybil can't help but blush. Was he flirting with her? Should she flirt back? "I... I'm not alone. My friends, they're..."

She's interrupted as her mystery man laughs. "What I meant was, I'm surprised nobody's asked you to dance yet. May I?" he extends a hand towards her, smiling as she giggles and accepts it.

"I'm afraid I don't know the steps," she confesses.

Her partner leans in towards her, close enough so that he can whisper in her ear. "Want to know a secret? Neither do I," he says. He smiles reassuringly at her as her eyes widen in shock when his hand slides down to her waist, pulling her closer to him. This was most definitely not the waltz. "Don't think and just go with it. That seems to be the key. Trust me?"

"I trust you," Sybil smiles. She knew that her parents, perhaps even her sisters, would highly disapprove of her conduct, but there's something so exhilarating about letting go like this. As she unceremoniously galloped (there's no other word for it) around the dancefloor, she almost felt as though she was going to fall flat on her face on several occasions. There was something about her mystery Irishman, about being held in his arms in such a way that would otherwise have been so incredibly intimate, that makes her feel safe. There's a strange fluttering sensation in her stomach as she catches a glimpse of his profile. He really is rather handsome. It was incredibly different to dancing with the men from her debutant ball earlier in the summer. He doesn't hold her like she is a fragile porcelain doll that could break at any moment, his hand feels rough and work worn in hers - although not unpleasant in the slightest - and, perhaps best of all, he doesn't know that she's titled. It feels nice not to have to weigh up someone's pedigree or consider the prospects of marriage whilst dancing and instead to just have fun. For the first time in her life, she doesn't feel like Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham and, instead, she's just... well, she's just Sybil.

The music ends and, as everyone applauds, Sybil half expects her partner to leave. He remains at her side though, his hand still on her lower back which sends a shiver straight up her spine.

"I couldn't help but notice," he says. "That that's not a local accent you've got there."

Sybil shakes her head. "Not exactly, no," she half laughs. "I'm from Yorkshire."

"Ahhh... It's rare for such a fair English rose to bloom so far away from home." This time, there was no doubt that there was a flirtatious tone to his voice.

She's lost count of how many times she's already done it in his presence, but Sybil blushes a delicate shade of crimson. No man has ever spoken to her in such a way. "Forgive me, sir, but... are you flirting with me?"

"And what if I am?" he asks.

Sybil shrugs. Two can play at this game - Finally, years of watching her eldest sister converse with men, studying her every move, were about to pay off. Or so she hopes. "It's just that, where I'm from, if a gentlemen were to ask a lady to dance without properly introducing himself first, it would be considered incredibly discourteous," she smirks, playing with her necklace in such a way that Mary would.

Her handsome stranger laughs. "Well then," he says, swiping two pints of Guinness from a nearby table. "I'd say it's a very good job I'm not a gentleman, isn't it."

There was mischievous glimmer in his eyes that brings the butterflies right back. She knows that her behaviour would be considered completely inappropriate, but Sybil honestly doesn't care. There's something wild and dangerous about him in the sense that he's unlike any other man she's ever met before - wild and dangerous in the sense that he was awakening feelings in her that she had never before thought herself capable of, all in less than half an hour of meeting him. It takes her a moment to realise that he's pressed one of the glasses into her hand.

"What is this?" she asks.

"Have you never tried Guinness before?"

"Can't say I have, no," replies Sybil, honestly not liking the look of the dark liquid she had been presented with - and it smells even worse.

"You can't come all the way to Ireland and not try Guinness," he laughs.

"That," she says, repulsed at the taste. "Is the vilest thing I have ever tasted."

Her companion laughs again - a beautiful, melodic laugh to match his accent, she decides. "Tom," he says, after the briefest of pauses.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Tom, my name is Tom."

"Oh. Sybil," she replies, taking hold of his outstretched hand, expecting him to shake it. She was a little shocked when he pulled it to his lips and gently kissed the back of it. She laughs again and shakes her head. She looks over his shoulder and sees Cathleen giving her a nod of approval. It was, after all, just a bit of fun.

Sybil and Tom talked for what seemed like hours. She found out that he grew up in Dublin, had a younger sister and three older brothers. They had a shared passion for history and politics, a love of books, and he was particularly impressed by her enthusiasm for the suffragette movement. Sybil glossed over an awful lot of the details from her life back in Yorkshire; it just seemed so much easier. She suddenly became aware that he was sitting incredibly close to her, his leg gently pressing against hers. Tom smiles at her and gently takes her hand in his, their fingers lacing together in a way that feels so incredibly natural.

"I don't suppose..." Tom began, before being interrupted by Alice Moran calling out to Sybil.

"Lady Sybil!" she shouts, once again forgetting that Sybil had insisted she drop the use of her title. "We have to go, you promised your father."

Sybil's heart sinks and she looks into Tom's eyes apologetically. She honestly doesn't want to leave his side, content to stay here for the rest of the night. Things had moved rather quickly between them, unsurprising considering just how much of a spark there was. Sybil has to admit, she had probably been about five minutes away from attempting to kiss him. "I... I'm sorry, I really have to go." She looks at him one last time, saddened by the look of disappointment in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

"Can I see you again?" asks Tom, knowing that it was a very small village and that the chances of running into her were highly probable. Or so he thought. It still hadn't registered with him that she'd just been addressed as 'Lady Sybil'.

Sybil smiles back at him. "I dearly hope so," she tells him. It doesn't exactly answer his question, but it was the best response she could give.

-xxx-

Sybil hadn't thought about her encounter with Tom in three days, not until she comes down into the library one morning and overhears two of the maids talking as they work.

"Did you see the new chauffeur this morning?" asks the red-headed one.

Her brunette companion shakes her head. "No, but Jenny said he's rather easy on the eye."

"Aye, he's that alright," says the red-head. "Hand carved by the angels themselves was that one." The two maids giggle like schoolgirls as they lust over their new colleague. Sybil shakes her head and smiles, butterflies dancing in her stomach as the memories of that night come flooding back - her hand in his, the way he'd spun her around the dancefloor, and then there was that unfinished question. "I don't suppose..." - Suppose what? She couldn't for the life of her begin to think what it was that he could want. Her innermost desires seem to know what she wanted him to say, but that was completely different. It was just her luck that she would probably never have her answer...

**_-xxx-_**

His first day was going rather well. The small village in County Wicklow was a far cry from the hustle and bustle the city streets of his childhood, but it was a nice change. He'd hoped that coming down here would give him a chance to clear his head and figure out just what he's supposed to do with his life. Yes, he's just taken a job working as a chauffeur for the Donnelly family (he has his cousin, a footman, to thank for that one), but it isn't forever. He loves to write, having even been told on several occasions that he has a talent for it, but it's difficult for a working class lad from Dublin to make anything of himself doing that. This, he thinks, would do for now. He decides that he could get used to this life - and he strongly suspects that a chance meeting with a beautiful young woman, and the prospect of perhaps seeing her again one day, have something to do with that.

There is something oddly familiar about one of Mr and Mrs Donnelly's guests. He hasn't had a chance to look at her properly, but he swears that he's seen her somewhere before. It isn't until he takes her hand to help her out of the car that the penny finally drops. Blue eyes meet hers, and suddenly everything makes sense. Tom Branson has indeed met Sybil Crawley again, and it was just his luck that she would be completely off limits to him.

It was going to be an interesting summer...


	3. Leap of Faith

"_If I fell in love with you, what would you do about it?_"

"_Everything_."

**_Charlotte and Mitchell - London Boulevard _**

Tom hadn't exactly been expecting sympathy from his cousin, but this was in a whole different league. If anything, Jimmy Branson is angry - or perhaps even just annoyed.

"Christ, Tom," he groaned. "Of all the women in Ireland! You had to go and pick that one."

Tom sighed. "I know."

"You're not going to... I mean, you're not going to do anything about it, are you?" An awkward silence fills the space between them, and Jimmy knew exactly what that meant. "Tom! You cannot be serious!"

"I... I don't know. I honestly don't know what to do," he flustered. "It's... complicated."

"Damn right it is!" Jimmy snaps. "If you act on this thing you've got for Lady Sybil, then it will be both our necks on the chopping block. And think of her as well! What would her parents say if she was caught dallying with the chauffeur?!"

Tom loathes to admit it, but he can't just think about himself this time. He can't believe he hadn't noticed it that night - the way she moved with such grace and elegance (even when he, being the terrible dancer that he was, had practically dragged her across the floor), spoke with such a cut glass accent, and talked of impropriety and the manners of gentlemen. He should have known that she was unlike any girl... woman... that he'd ever met before. He should have known that she was far too good for him, too far above him, but, in all honesty, none of that seems to matter. He's all for narrowing the divide between the poor and the aristocracy, but maybe Jimmy has a point when he says that he would be going a little bit far by doing it this way, even by Tom's standards - he's never really been one to do things simply.

"Alright, you've made your point," he says, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "I promise not to do anything."

"Good," says Jimmy. The older man hates playing the big brother role, but somebody has to do it in order to keep the youngest of the Branson boys in check. His Aunt Aileen's words still ring clear in his head.

_"Make sure my Tommy stays out of trouble!" she warns as her son and nephew prepare to leave Dublin. _

_ "Mam!" Tom protests. "I'm not five years old," he laughs, his arms still wrapped around his sister, Órlaith, who was reluctant to let her big brother go. She was close to Tom, her other brothers, Niall, Kieran, and Éamon were all married (Niall was a father and Éamon's wife was expecting their first child around Christmas) and so she rarely gets to spend time with them. She'd learnt so much from Tom and anyone who knows the Branson family at all would say that they were so alike - physically and personality wise. They take after their father, whereas the older three have their mother's auburn hair. All of them have their father's bright blue eyes though, and it already seems that that trait had been passed on to Niall's children. _

_ "I know... but you were less of a handful then," she half laughs._

_ She has a point._

**_-xxx-_**

Cathleen was on to her. There was no other possible explanation for the way she was looking at her. It wasn't until they were finally alone after dinner one evening that Sybil was confronted by her cousin.

"It's him, isn't it? The man from the Nolan's wedding, he's our chauffeur!"

Sybil feels the heat rising to her cheeks and she can't for the life of her meet her cousin's eyes. To say she'd been having rather inappropriate thoughts of late was perhaps an understatement. They'd ranged from the chaste do the downright salacious - she'd dismissed them straight away though. She hasn't even spoken to him properly since that night, but even she can't fight the undeniable attraction to him. She'd danced with countless men at countless balls this summer, but not one of them had made her feel the way that he did. It was probably no more than lust or a silly teenage crush - but she just has to know for sure. She decides in that moment that, if he agreed to it, they would be friends.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she smiles. Sybil doesn't know what the point of trying to lie to Cathleen was; she'll no doubt see though it in a second.

Her cousin sighs. "Sybil, darling, I see the way that you look at him. Promise me you won't do anything stupid!"

"You're beginning to sound an awful lot like Mary."

"Good!" Cathleen replies, perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. "Then perhaps you'll see sense! I'm sorry, that was rather harsh... I just don't want to see you hurt. Nothing can ever come of it, so it's pointless even trying," she says, much more softly this time and giving her younger cousin's hand a gentle squeeze.

Sybil nods - a silent promise that she wouldn't do anything that would get anyone into trouble. However, what Cathleen had failed to take account of was that, all her life, Sybil had been thought to be more of a Levinson girl than a Crawley. It was this wild American blood (as her grandmother called it), that had made her a rather inquisitive young woman...

Nobody had to know.

**_-xxx-_**

An unfamiliar voice calls out to him as he works. Turning his head, his puzzled expression turns to one of delight.

"Lady Sybil," he smiles. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Sybil replies. "We can dispense with the title for a start."

Tom sighs. "I don't think that's appropriate, milady."

"Neither was dancing with me in a pub, but you did that."

"Well I didn't know who you were then."

"Touché," Sybil smirks - the twinkle in her eyes is enough to send him mad with desire. He'd seen how beautiful she was the other night but now, in the broad light of day, she really does leave him breathless. She's young, yes, but by no means a girl - "All the right curves in all the right places," his brother Ciaran would say. But no, he knows that Lady Sybil Crawley is so much more than just a pretty face. From what he's heard the maid and valet who had accompanied the family to Ireland, her recent brush with politics had landed her in hot water with her father. "A woman after my own heart," Tom had thought to himself with a smile.

"Any other requests?"

Sybil shakes her head. "No... except this," she says. "Do you think that we could perhaps start again? Proper introductions and all that... I'd like to get to know you... as a friend."

"Friend?"

"Yes... you see, I don't really have many..."

"I find that hard to believe," he interrupts with a smirk. "Sorry."

"No, it's true... I don't. I have plenty of acquaintances... but not friends. I had one, I suppose. Her name was Gwen and she was one of our maids."

"What happened to her?"

"She left service to become a secretary. I helped her find a job and a friendship of sorts grew between us because of it. We've promised to write to each other, but it won't be the same."

Tom looks at her - her sad eyes and the vision of a rather lonely little girl playing by herself in the grounds of a country estate make his heart hurt. Money and privilege obviously can't give you everything.

"What about as a child?" he asks, feeling an overwhelming to know.

Sybil shrugs. "I had my sisters for a time, but then they grew up, left the nursery and were taught how to be proper young ladies for whom it wasn't proper to go on imaginary adventures searching for the lost treasures of a Pharaoh in the deserts of Egypt or pretending to be a cowboy whilst riding their horses."

Now that's an image that makes him smile. "Sounds like someone had a very vivid imagination."

Sybil laughs. "Too vivid for a Lady, some would say," she grins. "I liked to read... loved it in fact. Books were there for me when nobody else was."

"Then we have that in common," Tom replies. "I was a reader too. Still am... yes, I had my brothers for company but my Da always used to read to us. I loved the sound of his voice as a boy and the worlds that I could conjure up in my head just by listening to him... it was escapism. My childhood wasn't an easy one, not for a time at least, and those worlds were escapism for me. As I grew up, the books became less about fiction and more about fact... history and politics mainly. I got to a point where I felt like I couldn't run anymore... I couldn't hide in those imaginary worlds and suddenly I needed to understand this world. I needed to understand why there were Lords and Ladies who feasted at their grand tables in their grand halls while I was watching children fighting over scraps of bread in the gutter. I don't mean to speak ill of your or your family, milady, but it's the truth." He looks up, half expecting to see anger or some form of disapproval in her eyes at him having stepped out of line - but instead he sees sympathy and understanding.

"You'll perhaps think me silly for saying that I understand... of course I couldn't possibly know what that's like, but that doesn't mean I..." she sighs. "Do you know what I mean?"

Tom can't help but smile. "I think I do... You may live in a world of fine titles and glittering jewels, but you know that not everything is quite so sunny for everyone else. You see the potential for change and maybe, just maybe... you want to do something about it."

"How... how do you do that?" asks a rather stunned Sybil.

"Do what?"

"Know all that about me even though we've only met once... was it a lucky guess?"

Tom shakes his head. "No, it's like I said... I'm a reader. Not just of books though."

Sybil feels her cheeks burning - she doesn't know it, but he thinks she looks even prettier when she blushes. "See, this is why we need to be friends," she says, moving closer to him and perching herself on the workbench. "So, which inevitable conflict do you want to discuss first? The one for Europe or the one for Ireland's independence?"

And, just like that, Tom Branson knows that his heart is no longer entirely his own.

**_-xxx-_**

The whispers of war begin to put an awful lot in perspective. Both of them know that nothing would ever come of it, but it doesn't do anything for the desire they clearly harbour for one another born from the beautiful friendship they've begun to form these past few weeks. It would be a summer romance, nothing more. Not uncommon in the slightest. On the night of Cathleen and Jack's engagement party, Sybil finds herself wandering the now familiar path down towards the garage, the warm summer breeze feeling so refreshing after being cooped up in a stuffy ballroom for hours on end. So many people had turned up that she highly doubts anybody would notice her absence. If they do, she'll tell them she had a headache and had gone to get some fresh air - well, it was partly true.

He's reading when she finds him and it seemed like such a shame to disturb him. He'd obviously heard her, because he sets down the book and flashes her that warm, friendly smile that he greets her with every day.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Sybil asks nervously.

Tom shakes his head. "Not at all... In fact, I welcome the company. All this waiting around is getting a bit boring."

"I know what you mean," she sighs. "I love Cathleen and I'm happy for her, but these parties are frightfully dull."

"They must be, if you prefer spending your time in a dusty old garage," Tom smirks, making her laugh.

"If I'm honest, I find your company far more stimulating. If I have to hear about Lady Browning's new ballroom one more time I think I'll scream!" she smiles, "It's as if they're completely oblivious to anything going on outside of their little..." she pauses, struggling to find the right word. "Bubbles... where nothing matters except for titles and money and good breeding. I'm not ungrateful for what I have, there are plenty of people less fortunate than I am, but I'm not sure how much more of it I can take!" She bites her lip, realising that she had probably overstepped the mark and controls herself before she had the chance to go off on a full blown rant. "I just... I wish there was a way that I could use what I have to do some good in the world and... Why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm not laughing," Tom lies. "Well, at least not at you. It's just that... you're not like the others, are you? I don't mean to speak out of turn, but I've always believed that the aristocracy represented everything that was wrong with the world... Then I met you and," he sighs, deciding that he might as well take the plunge and tell her exactly how he feels about her. "You are everything that's right with it. You have the potential to be... wonderful. Not that you aren't already but..." he nervously runs a hand through his hair, realising that he was making a complete mess of his confession. "I'm not doing this very well, am I?

Sybil giggles - a slight shade of crimson gracing her cheeks as she blushes at what he'd said. "No, but I'm enjoying watching you try."

Tom laughs and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking down at the floor to hide his embarrassment and not entirely sure what he should do next. In the end, she is the one to make the first move.

"Dance with me." He looked up to see that Sybil was holding out a gloved hand to him, which he didn't even hesitate in taking.

"This is entirely improper, milady," he says mischievously, pulling her into a much more formal hold than he had done the first night they had met. "I was always under the impression that gentlemen were supposed to ask ladies to dance."

"Well, if I recall correctly, Branson, you once told me that you weren't a gentleman and, besides," she says, a hint of flirtation in her voice. "I rather like throwing the rule book out of the window every now and then."

"Is that so?"

Deciding that words would be an inappropriate response, Sybil leans up to him and kisses his cheek - or at least that had been her intention. He moves at the last possible second and their lips come together. Shocked, she steps back from him, releasing herself from his hold.

"I... I'm sorry," she apologises, sounding incredibly flustered. "I went to kiss your cheek and you moved. I didn't mean to... Oh God, you must think me such a fool!" Sybil brings her hands to her face to hide her own embarrassment, the tables having turned again from when he was the one becoming flustered mere minutes earlier. She screws her eyes closed and only dares to open them when she feels his hands gently pull at her wrists.

"I don't think you a fool at all," he laughs, kissing the top of her head. "In fact, I think you're quite the opposite."

She moves even closer towards him - if that were even possible, and laces her fingers with his. "Well... that's good."

"It's very good," he smirks and leans down to kiss her again.

No... his heart definitely isn't his own anymore.

...It's entirely hers.


	4. Reality Bites

"_Summer romances begin for all kinds of reasons, but when all is said and done, they have one thing in common. They're shooting stars, a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, fleeting glimpse of eternity, and in a flash they're gone._"

**Noah Calhoon - The Notebook**

"Cathleen's invited me up to Dublin for the weekend," announces Sybil at breakfast. "May I go, Papa?"

"I don't see why not," replies Robert. "Though don't forget we're going to the Lawrence's on Monday evening so you'll need to be back in plenty of time."

His daughter smiles. "I will... thank you, Papa," she says and kisses his cheek as she leaves the dining room.

"She's been in good spirits recently," says Edith. "I would have thought she would have started to get restless by now."

Mary nods her head in agreement. "It would seem that Ireland's charm has rubbed

off on her."

**_-xxx-_**

There was indeed something about Ireland that had rubbed itself off on Sybil but it isn't necessarily its charm.

He's lying on his back, basking in the summer sunlight on a rare afternoon off - an open book balances across his chest as he dozes off, only to be woken again by something tickling his nose.

"Can't a man sleep for just a few minutes on his day off?"

Sybil giggles and continues her ministrations to his nose with the blade of grass between her fingers. "No... not when I'm not going to see you for a few days."

"Why? Are you going somewhere?" he asks as he props himself up on his elbows.

"Yes," she nods. "I'm going up to Dublin to see Cathleen and Jack."

Tom smiles. "I'd tell you all the things that you need to see and do but I doubt you'll be venturing into my side of the city."

"I think I'd prefer to see your Dublin... will you take me one day?"

"Of course I will," he says and extends his arm so that she can cuddle up against him. "You'll need to find a way to come back to Ireland though."

"With a cousin who lives in Dublin, I think I'll be able to manage that."

"Good," he replies and kisses the top of her head. "Because I'm struggling to think of what it's going to be like without you."

"Then don't," says Sybil. "Let's just enjoy this week and then we can work something out from there."

"So you're not going to give up on me?"

"No," she replies. "Never."

As hard as it is for him to believe that everything really is going to be alright between them once she leaves, he's content to pretend just for a while.

-xxx-

Cathleen and Jack live in a smart townhouse in a respectable area of the city - they have a small household staff of a cook, a maid and a valet-come-butler. It reminds Sybil very much of Crawley house back in Downton and is a comfortable life that she could perhaps see herself living one day. The guest bedroom overlooks the small but immaculately kept garden and she sits by the window watching the raindrops chase each other down the pane of glass. She can't stay cooped up in here - she came to Dublin for an adventure and an adventure is exactly what she'll have. Grabbing her coat from the wardrobe, she makes her way downstairs and asks the butler for an umbrella.

"And when shall I tell Mrs Moran to expect you back, milady?" he asks.

"I'm not sure yet," replies Sybil. "Most certainly before dinner though."

"Very well, milady. Have a pleasant afternoon."

"And you, O'Neil."

It doesn't take long before she's completely lost - she'd got so wrapped up in the sights and sounds of the city that she'd lost track of where she was. An unease begins to settle over her as the rain becomes heavier and an unsettling feeling of being followed begins to wash over her. She quickly glances over her shoulder and, sure enough, she sees a man following close behind - the collar of his coat is pulled up against the rain and he wears his cap low so that it covers his eyes. She begins to walk faster but he continues to follow until he's managed to catch up with her and she screams as he grabs hold of her wrist.

"Sybil... Sybil it's alright," he says, pulling of his cap. "It's me."

"Tom!" she exclaims. "You absolute bloody fool! Do you know how terrified I was?"

"I'm sorry he says," brushing his thumb across her knuckles reassuringly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I was going to go to the Moran's this afternoon but then I saw you on the street and decided to try to catch you."

Sybil smiles. "And what would you have done? Knocked on the door and asked to see me."

"Perhaps," he replies. "Or I would have just thrown pebbles at your window to get your attention."

"As romantic as that gesture is, it wouldn't have done you much good. I'm on the back of the house," Sybil tells him. "More to the point, what are you doing back in Dublin?"

"I have the weekend of," replies Tom. "I've been planning to come home for weeks and, when you told me you'd be here too I couldn't resist the temptation to try and surprise you."

"Well you certainly managed that," she says with a smirk, leaning in closer to him as she begins to shiver.

"You're cold."

"Freezing... I didn't really come prepared for the rain."

Tom chuckles. "Come on," he says. "I'll take you somewhere to dry off."

**_-xxx-_**

He takes her to a modest house a few streets away which, despite its slightly ramshackle appearance, it is clearly well kept and loved. This is a family home - **his** family home.

"Tom, is this..."

"Where I grew up," he says with a smile and squeezes her hand, relishing in the fact that he's able to do so without having to hide. "It's not much, but it's home."

"It's wonderful!" she replies. "It's how a house ought to look. Not like mine where nothing is to be touched."

He smiles back at her, comforted by the notion that she isn't put off by his humble origins. "Come on, Mam's probably out," he says. "I'll make us some tea."

"Tea would be wonderful."

They sit nestled together at the kitchen table, cups of tea clutched between their fingers as he shows her various photographs of his family.

"Are these your parents?" she asks, staring at a picture of a bride and groom on their wedding day."

Tom nods. "My mam, Aileen, and my Da. His name was Ted, he died when I was sixteen."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replies. "You look just like him."

"So everyone says. We all have his eyes but only my sister and I share his hair colour... he was the best man I ever knew and even now I miss him so much."

She reaches out across the table and takes his hand in her own. "I'm sure he'd be proud of you, you know. You're a good man... the best man I've ever known."

Tom raises her hand to his lips and gives it a tender kiss. "I love you," he says.

Sybil smiles and, not entirely sure how to respond to that, leans in to kiss him. It starts off gentle and loving but their passion soon takes over. He runs his hand up her thigh and she sighs against him - they're alone and it would be so easy for him to whisk her off upstairs and show her just how much he loves her. Truth be told, a part of her wants him to do exactly that. All thoughts of intimacy however are quickly chased away at the sound of coughing coming from the doorway.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Mam!" Tom says as he pulls away from Sybil. "I... I wasn't expecting you home so soon."

"So it appears," she says, her gaze shifting to Sybil. She's a handsome woman in her early fifties with auburn hair and piercing green eyes. "Something you want to tell me, Tommy?"

"Oh, err... sorry. Mam, this is Sybil, Sybil Crawley. Sybil, this is my mother, Aileen."

"It's lovely to meet you at last, Mrs Branson," she says with a smile. "Tom's told me so many wonderful things about you and your family."

Aileen's gaze shifts to her son and then back to Sybil, a little taken back by her accent. "Flattery always was my boy's way," she replies. "But it seems he's forgotten his manners... make some more tea, will you!"

Sybil can't help but laugh as Tom obediently follows his mother's orders, making himself busy as Aileen begins to quiz her son's girl about her life back in England.

**_-xxx- _**

"Heavens, is that the time!" Sybil exclaims as she notices the clock for the first time in hours. "I really must be getting back, my cousin will start to worry otherwise."

"I'll walk you back," says Tom. "I'll just go and get our coats."

Aileen follows him into the hallway and gives his arm a squeeze. "She's a nice lass, Tommy, but you know that this can't be," she whispers.

"I don't know what you mean," he replies.

"You know perfectly well what I mean... you'll end up with your heart broken. Aristocratic girls toy with the affections of their servants, it's not unheard of and..."

"She's not like that, Mam," Tom retorts. "I love her and I think she loves me too... no, I know she does. We'll make this work, you'll see."

"Will I?" asks Aileen with a raised eyebrow. "You've read too many novels, my boy. I would gladly welcome her into this family with open arms, but what about hers? Would they accept you? More to the point, would they cast her off? Would she ever be welcome in her own home again?"

"I... I don't know. I honestly don't know."

"Well then it's something worth thinking about," she says, fixing her son's hair as though he was a small boy again. "Before you do anything drastic. You haven't..."

"No! God, no... I do have it in me to be a gentleman you know."

"Good," replies Aileen. "Because that girl certainly deserves one."

**_-xxx-_**

They walk hand in hand back to Cathleen and Jack's house but both decide that it's probably for the best if he leaves her on the corner.

"When do you go back to Wicklow?" she asks, delaying their parting for just a little longer.

"Tomorrow morning after mass," replies Tom. "You?"

"Monday afternoon."

"I'll be there at the station to take you back to the Donnelly's."

Sybil sighs. "And back to hiding... I hate this, Tom."  
"I know love," he says. "So do I. But it won't always be like this."

"How do you know."

"Because I'm going to make something of myself one day... I'll make something of myself and then I'll prove to everyone that I'm worthy of loving you."

"You don't need to prove that to me... I meant what I said. I've known dukes and viscounts and even danced with a prince, but you're still so much more of a man than any of them. When we get back to Wicklow, I want to show you just how much you mean to me."

Tom furrows his brow. "What do you mean."

"I... I want us to be together," she says, rather stunned at her own boldness for having this conversation in public. "Just for one night before I go home."

Tom sighs. "Sybil, do you know what you're asking of me?"

"Yes."

"You'll be ruined."

"Good," she replies. "Because the only man I want is you..."

He kisses her tenderly and nods his head in agreement. "Monday night... come to me after dinner."

"We're dining out on Monday night," she says with a hint of disappointment. "Though I'm sure I could feign illness or something."

Tom smirks. "Why you deceptive little minx... should I be worried?"

Sybil laughs. "No, I shouldn't think so... so long as you behave."

**_-xxx-_**

Mary Crawley peers out of her window as she hears the car pull up to the door, ever so slightly taken aback at what she sees...

Her baby sister is kissing the chauffeur.

It's a quick kiss, but it is a kiss nonetheless and, being no stranger to a scandal, Mary knows that it is her duty to stop her sister making a drastic mistake.

She marches down to Sybil's room, dismissing the maid for a moment in need of a moment of privacy.

"How long?"  
"Beg your pardon?"

"How long have you been dallying with the chauffeur."

Sybil's heart sinks. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says defensively.

Mary sighs. "I saw you kissing him. In front of the house of all places! At least have the decency to do it in private..."

Her sister begins gnawing on her bottom lip, a sure sign that she's hiding something. "Since Cathleen and Jack's engagement party," she confesses. "Though when we met for the first time we had no idea who each other was. When I learnt that he was the Donnelley's chauffeur, I tried to befriend him but it just became so difficult to keep it that way. He's a wonderful man, Mary..."

"A wonderful man he may be, darling, but he's not the man for you," she says, a little more harshly than intended. "You know that this cannot be... you'll be ruined if this ever got out!"

"Oh as if I care about all that," Sybil retorts. "I love him."

Mary's jaw drops - she had thought it to be just lust or a mere teenage infatuation. But **love**? "I should tell Papa," she says.

"You wouldn't."

"I said that I should, not that I would... just as long as you promise to end it with this boy."

"He's not a boy... he's not much younger than you!"

"That isn't the point and you know it... we're leaving on Thursday, you can't possibly expect to carry this on. You'll only end up getting hurt and I can't bear to see you like that."  
Sybil sighs. "Fine," she says. "I'll end it... tonight."

"But... we're guests at the Lawrence's tonight."

"Do you know, I have a terrible headache," she lies. "I don't think I'll be able to go after all."

**_-xxx-_**

Much to her amazement, the rest of the family buys her claim to be feeling ill and once everyone has gone she races across the grounds towards the small cottage.

No sooner has the door closed behind them than he's got her pinned up against it, claiming her lips in a passionate kiss and letting his hands roam across her body. "You came," he says as they pull apart at last, taking her hand in his and leading her towards the bedroom.

"Of course I did," she smiles. "Though I need to tell you something... Mary knows."

"I see," he replies, his gaze dropping to the floor. "And what does that mean exactly?"

"Well, she threatened to tell my father unless I ended things with you... as far as she's concerned, that's why I'm here tonight."

"And what's the truth?"

She lovingly raises her hand to his face and brushes her thumb across his cheek. "The truth is, I came here tonight because I love you and because I still want what I asked of you in Dublin."

Tom smiles. "Are you sure?"

"Completely... make love to me, Tom."

**_-xxx-_**

"It's a shame Sybil couldn't make it tonight," says Emily over dinner.

Cora nods. "I know, the poor darling," she replies. "She says she must have come down with something when she got caught in the rain in Dublin. I did warn her about going outside in that weather... still, at least an early night will do her the world of good."

Mary chokes on a mouthful of her food, apologising as she tries to quell her coughing with a sip of water. "I'm sorry," she says hoarsely. "I don't know what came over me."

"Mary, are you quite alright?" Robert asks, concerned about his daughter's outburst.

"I'm fine, Papa."

Robert narrows his eyes at her - he knows when his girls are lying to him and Mary has **that** look on her face. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Sybil now, would it. After all, she seemed perfectly healthy when she arrived back this afternoon."

Mary finds herself confessing everything to her father after dinner - she regrets the words the second they leave her mouth.

**_-xxx-_**

"Do you trust me?" he whispers against her leg, his fingers stroking over her calf.

"Yes," she replies, gripping the sheets in anticipation of what is to come.

He pushes her underskirt higher up, his work-worn hands rough against the smoothness of her skin. "Just relax... I'm not going to hurt you," he says. "But if you want me to stop..."

"Tom," she smiles, sitting up so that she can reach out and lovingly caress his cheek. "I want this..."

"There's no going back."

"I know... please, Tom. Please."

Nodding, he leans in to kiss her, pushing her back so that she's lying down on the bed. He wraps his arm around her waist as they continue to kiss, fumbling with the ties of her corset.

"Sure?"

"Are you?"

He moves to pull the sheet over them in an attempt at hiding them both away from the rest of the world. Just for a while, they'll create their own - one in which they can be together without titles or social standing to keep them apart.

Both of them are oblivious to the sound of the door being flung open, of the hand tearing back the sheet and pulling him off her in a furious rage.

"GET OFF HER!"

Sybil screams as she instantly recognises her father's voice. Rolling off the bed, she snatches up her dress from the floor and holds it against herself in an attempt to preserve what little remains of her modesty.

"Papa! STOP!" she yells, seeing that he's got Tom pinned against the wall.

"Sybil," her father growls, eyes never once leaving the cornered Irishman. "Get back to the house now and we'll say nothing of this to your mother."

"But..."

"I'm warning you, Sybil... GO!"

Terrified for what will happen if she stays, she gathers her clothes in her arms and looks at Tom - silent tears stream down her face and she knows that there aren't enough words in the English language to express just how sorry she is.

"I love you," Tom tells her, feeling the Earl's grip on him tighten as he does so.

Sybil gives him a watery smile before running off into the darkness, sobbing her heart out all the way back to the house.

**_-xxx-_**

He knocks gently on her bedroom door sometime later - what's done is done and he thinks it's time he had a little talk with his youngest daughter.

"Go away," she sniffs.

"Sybil, it's your Papa..."

"I don't want to speak to you. Not right now... not ever."

"Don't be so dramatic, I expect that of your sisters."

She wrenches the door open and the sight of her looking completely dishevelled and her eyes raw from crying so hard makes his heart hurt. Still, he knows that what he's just done is the right thing. "Please, just listen to what I have to say."

Sybil sighs and steps aside to let him into her room, sitting down on the edge of the bed and letting her hand caress the mahogany post. "I know you're probably disappointed in me..."

"**Probably**?" he says. "Sybil, I am incredibly disappointed in you... I didn't think I ever could be. Not even your behaviour at sneaking off to that count was worthy of disappointment but this..."

"Nothing happened."

"It certainly didn't look like nothing!" he exclaims. "You call being half naked in the bed of the chauffeur **nothing**?! I presume that you're trying to tell me that your virtue is still intact?"

"My virtue, yes," she replies. "Though I do believe you've managed to shatter my heart."

**_-xxx-_**

She wakes the following morning to the sound of two maids packing her belongings into her cases.

"What's going on?" she asks groggily.

"Beggin' your pardon, milady," one of the maids says. "But we've had instructions from his lordship to see that everything is packed for your return to England."

"My what?" she asks, completely stunned. "Are the rest of my family going home too?"  
"Yes milady," replies the other.

Sybil practically leaps out of bed and, after throwing on some clothes, she races down to the servants' hall.

"Jimmy!" she exclaims, catching Tom's cousin just as he comes down from the dining room. "Jimmy, I need you to give Tom a message from me."

"You... you don't know, do you?"

Sybil stares at the footman, utterly confused by his words. "What are you talking about?"

"He's gone, milady," replies Jimmy. "There's absolutely no sign of him anywhere."


	5. The Feather Man

_**Thank you so much for your wonderful response so far - I know that it was a lot to post all in one go but I already had the first few written. I'm not so sure about this one though - these first few chapters are just about setting the scene and we get into the real meat of the story from the next one (I think). I felt that what Tom does (or rather what he has to do) towards the end of this chapter was important for what is to come - it affects him deeply and I think he'd have a lot of feelings on such a matter (Credit has to go to the magnificent novel 'the Absolutist' by John Boyne for the inspiration for this chapter - it's well worth a read). Anyway, let me know what you think and enjoy :) x**_

* * *

_"You fought in the Great War?" a journalist from The Guardian asked me in a long interview to coincide with the presentation of the prize._

_"I didn't think it was all that great." I pointed out. "In fact, if memory serves, it was bloody awful."_

_**The Absolutist - John Boyne**_

**_Northern France, September 1916_**

He's not even sure what day it is when he awakes from his pitiful slumber and, in the near constant darkness, it's difficult to tell whether or not it's actually daytime in the first place. He's slowly beginning to lose his mind - there's only so much of this a man can take before he goes completely mad and he's almost certain that they'll throw him into bedlam once all this is over.

That's if the bullets don't get him first.

Or the shells.

Maybe it'll be the rats.

He's not sure which he'd prefer - whichever would be quickest and cleanest most would say, but he's not sure. He deserves to suffer for his sins after all - God knows he's committed enough of them. Maybe this is what it's all about.

Maybe this is his punishment.

Concluding his musings on mortality, he makes his way down the line, wading through the mud and the shit and whatever other unpleasant substances clog up the ground beneath his feet. He surveys the eclectic mix of men around him - the public schoolboys playing a game of cards with the miners and farmers who help put their food on the table and the sons of Dukes and Earls drinking tea with the lads who grew up on the street. He finds his own particular band of brothers - a motley crew who bonded in their first days out here. There's a new face among their group - a handsome fellow who looks far too clean to have been here long.

"Haven't seen you before," he says.

"Just got here a few days ago," replies the stranger. "The weather's better than back home," he says with a smirk which makes the others laugh.

He raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure what to make of their new companion. "Conscripted of volunteered?"

"With this accent? I'd have thought that obvious."

Another of the lads claps the newcomer on the shoulder. "This is me cousin, Tom Branson... Tommy, this is Thomas Barrow."

"So Corporal Barrow," says Tom. "What did you do before the war?"  
"I was a footman," he says. "For the Earl of Grantham."  
Tom and Jimmy exchange a look.

"Small world," Jimmy mutters.

"The Earl of Grantham?"

"You know of 'im?" Thomas asks, lighting up a cigarette.

Tom nods. "I met him back in Ireland a few years ago... I was working as the chauffeur for Lady Grantham's cousin and her family."

"Was?" asks Thomas curiously, never one to give up when he's on the verge of getting a bit of gossip. "What did **you** do before the war then?"

Tom sighs. "Bits and pieces here and there, really," he says rather wistfully, his mind quite clearly somewhere else. It's the first time in so very long that he's thought of Sybil - every time he does it makes his heart ache. "I haven't really stayed in one place long enough since leaving Ireland."

Thomas makes a note to use his contacts back in Downton to find out all he can about the Irishman's connection to the Crawleys - if there's dirt, he'll be sure to find it.

**_-xxx-_**

**_Downton, one month later_**

Sybil stares tearfully at the letter clasped between her fingers. "_Not again,_" she thinks to herself. "_Not another one._" She excuses herself as her parents express their concern deciding that she's in need of some air. She runs as fast as she can across the grounds, letting her feet take control until she reaches her old childhood hideaway between the trees to the east of the house. Practically throwing herself down on the damp grass, Sybil finally allows herself to cry properly. This isn't the first time this has happened – the letters are coming thick and fast now, each of them bearing the name of someone she cares about very dearly. Not for the first time, she allows her thoughts to wander to the man who had captured her heart during a summer that seems so very long ago now - is he out there fighting for a king and country not his own? Whatever became of him? She'd written to him as soon as she'd returned home - well, to Jimmy anyway asking him to forward the letter to Tom's mother's house where hopefully he would receive it. She'd never received a reply and, after waiting and hoping for month after month, she had finally given up hope. She still loves him and she doubts she will ever be able to feel the same way about another man ever again, but if there's one thing this terrible war has taught her then it's never to get close to anyone, for God only knows what terrible fate awaits them across the sea.

Sybil knows now that she has to do something - she can't sit around just waiting and doing nothing anymore. The world is changing and she has to change with it, for her own sanity more than anything. She just needs to figure out how to do it...

**_-xxx-_**

He's slumped down against the wall of the trench, guessing that it's probably about Wednesday. Time seems to stand still out here, the days bleeding into one. Taking another drag of his cigarette ( a habit he'd never really cared for before coming out here but it just seems as though there's nothing else to do), he reads over the letter, the words written in the unmistakably elegant script of a certain young lady being the only thing that brings him warmth in this frozen hellhole.

_My dear brother,_

_Firstly, forgive me for the length of this letter - surely you will understand why when I tell you what I've been up to that has been keeping me busy._

_Oh, Tommy, I'm so excited - I'm engaged! Please don't be disappointed in me, I know that you always wanted more for me than this, but this is what I want and, what with the war and everything, it's just thrown an awful lot into perspective. Freddie is Canadian and we met in Liverpool when I was visiting Éamon and Maeve in July - speaking of those two, did Mam tell you that they're expecting another baby? Wonderful news, isn't it? I suppose that you need to hear it what with everything you've seen and done out there. Is it really as bad as they say it is? Don't tell me if you don't want to - some of the girls here have English sweethearts and say that they don't speak of it much, not even to each other. _

_Freddie and I refuse to even think about planning a wedding until everyone we know and love comes home safely, so please say you will. I miss you so terribly much and so does Mam and the boys. _

_I may be getting married, but my heart will remain forever yours - my beloved big brother. _

_All my love, _

_Órlaith. _

He still can't believe that little Órlaith is engaged - at sixteen, she's incredibly young but he's seen enough death and destruction recently to know that life is far too short to sit around and wait and see what tomorrow brings. In his world, it's a blessing if tomorrow comes at all. It hadn't taken him long to realise that they hadn't been taught how to kill, they'd been taught how to survive. As soon as he finishes his sentry duty for the night, he'll write his reply to Órlaith - he knows that he should probably try and get some rest but the only sleep any of them seem to get is an eternal one when they take a bullet to the head or get caught up in a shelling. The ways to die outnumber the ways to live and the latter is fast becoming more favourable than the former.

_My darling little sister, _

_Am I right to still call you that? From what I hear, you're quite grown up now - where has that little girl with ribbons in her hair gone? The one who used to play in the street with the Flynn boys? I always remember how Mam would go ballistic whenever you tore your dress and how it was always Da who would clean up your bloody knees and tell you not to listen when Mam told you not to play with them anymore. He wanted you to be yourself and that's exactly what I want. I want you to be happy and to be loved for being you. If this s what you've found with this Freddie boy then so be it - you have both my blessing and my congratulations. _

_I would rather not speak of it, if you wouldn't mind, but what I will say is this - it isn't as bad as they say it is. It's a thousand times worse. I can't remember the last time I saw sunshine, I've forgotten what real food tastes like and I have mud and lice in places that I wasn't even aware of before I came here. Do not pity or worry for me - I'm alive and, at this point, nothing else matters anymore. I could be struck down by the plague tomorrow and think it a far lesser evil. As I say though, I am alive and that means everything. _

_I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I couldn't possibly say when I'll next be allowed leave, nor do I know if it will be enough to allow me to return to Dublin. However, I can promise you this - I will be at your wedding. Do you remember when you were a bridesmaid at Niall's wedding and you asked me if, when the time came, I would give you away? Well i would be honoured if you'd still grant me that privilege. _

_I'll come home to you all, I promise - I love and miss you so very much. _

_Your beloved big brother, _

_Tom._

As he stuffs the letter into the envelope, he hears the unmistakable bark of his commanding officer calling out to him.

"Sir?" he asks, standing to attention as the Captain enters the dugout.

"Get your rifle, Private, and come with me... now!"

Reluctantly he follows. Being here, he thought he knew what hell was - as it turns out he couldn't have been more wrong.

**_-xxx-_**

What happened in that forest will haunt him for the rest of his days. He and five other men had marched for what seemed like hours, the cold light of dawn creeping up on them every step of the way. Eventually, they'd reached a clearing in the forest and there they'd been given their orders. This had been unheard of in this conflict up until now and it just so happened that he was one of the poor unfortunate souls that had been chosen at random to perform this grizzly task. He'd heard whispers that there was a feather man in their ranks but never once had he ever imagined that it would come to this. Tom too has his principles and has even contemplated setting down his own weapons once or twice before ("_Better a sniper's bullet to put me out of my misery than enduring this hell any longer_," he'd thought to himself as he'd weighed up the option of being sent over the top as a stretcher bearer than as a simple soldier) but as he looks at the poor bastard about to be at the end of his rifle - a blindfolded boy who really doesn't deserve this, he knows that it isn't worth it. Death is a near constant companion of his these days. He's always around and, even now, Tom can feel his icy breath on the back of his neck as he waits to claim his next victim and he's certain that it won't be long before he feels the grim reaper's hand upon his own shoulder and it will be his time at last.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he very nearly misses the order and he wonders what would happen to him if he refused to follow. No doubt he would meet the same barbaric end as the feather man before him...

"Take aim."

No amount of Hail Mary's can save his eternal soul after this - he's a man condemned to hell.

**_-xxx-_**

None of the six men who were there that morning spoke of what it was that they had done. It had been almost a month and the nightmares that plagued what little sleep they could get were unrelenting. They could see his face - the boy that they'd executed - and they'd sit subconsciously scrubbing the invisible blood from their hands. It's an almost blessed relief whenever they're told that they're going over the top because they know that they might find some relief from this torture at last.

His salvation comes at the hand of an angel and he isn't consumed by fire and brimstone like he thought he would be. She's here. She's come for him at last...

His girl.

**_-xxx-_**

Kitty McKendrick doesn't know what to do with the delirious soldier in her charge. He's feverish and keeps thrashing around making it damn near impossible for her to make a proper assessment of his wounds.

"My girl," he keeps mumbling. "My girl's coming for me. She... she's coming to take me home."

"Alright," Kitty says soothingly, applying a cold cloth to the back of his neck in an attempt to bring down his temperature. "Let's just get you better and then she can take you home."

"Can... can you get her for me? I need her... I need to see her."

Kitty smiles sadly - this is one of the hardest parts of her job and yet it's one of the things she takes the most comfort in. The best thing to do, she had been told, is to humour the patients. She knows that she has to keep talking to him and to almost play along with him - not many of them will make it and so it's good to make them happy at the very end, especially when one thinks of the horrors that have brought them here.

"Is she pretty, your girl?"

"Beautiful," he manages to say as the morphine begins to kick in at last. "So beautiful... my beautiful Sybil."

"Sybil? Is that her name?"

He nods feebly. "Sybil... Sybil Crawley. She's coming for me... I know she is."  
Kitty freezes. "Excuse me, just one second."

He hears her heels clacking on the floor as she runs away from him - are his wounds really that hideous that even she, a trained nurse, can't bear to look at him? She returns some moments later, a second person following close behind.

"TOM!"

She's here. She's come for him at last...

His girl.


	6. A Life So Changed

_**Once again, thank you all so much for the wonderful response to the previous chapter. I'm not being rude in not replying to your reviews, I just tend to get the notifications when I'm in lectures so I don't have the chance to. I will at some point though. Anyway, on with the show - I think this is one of those awkward chapters that has to be written to push things along a bit so that we can get to the main part of the story (and the smut... let's not forget the smut) and so for that I apologise. It will get better... I hope. Enjoy! :) x **_

* * *

"_If you never do anything, you never become anyone_."

**_Jenny Mellor - An Education_**

**_London, November 1916_**

They're standing in the store cupboard taking stock of medical supplies one afternoon when Kitty finally decides to ask the question that has been the source of gossip among the nurses for some time now.

"So, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a secret fiancé in France... a Duke or a Viscount or something."

Sybil chuckles. "Why would I have that?"

Kitty raises an eyebrow at her friend. "We know who you are, there's no point in hiding it anymore," she says. "Jenny saw a photograph of you dancing with a Greek prince in an old newspaper. So, is it true what they're all saying?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it isn't," Sybil replies as she puts away a box of bandages. "Nor did I mean to lie to you about who I was either... it was just easier."

"Oh, never mind that," says Kitty. "But there must be someone. You're an Earl's daughter... surely there can't be a shortage of handsome, wealthy men perusing you."

Sybil sighs. "There have been a few... though I've never shown much interest in any of them."

Kitty pauses for a moment and sets down her clipboard. "So you've never been in love then?"

"Love doesn't mean anything to my people... but yes, I have been in love before," she says wistfully. "I met him in Ireland two years ago... I left without saying goodbye. I don't regret many things in my life but that was one of them."

"What happened to him?"

"I'm not entirely sure," replies Sybil. "I did write to him but I never received a reply. He could be anywhere..."

She's interrupted as one of the other nurses, Jenny, comes running into the store cupboard. "Come quick, we need you!"

They follow her down the corridor and into one of the wards that has been set aside to deal with incoming soldiers and what they see is utter chaos. A mass influx of wounded soldiers are brought into the hospital and they find themselves thrown in at the deep end. Sybil's hands shake as she assists one of the doctors - the things she has seen over the past couple of months have helped line her stomach with steel but this time it feels different. She calms her hysterical patient down with soothing words as he writhes and screams with pain, desperately trying to keep him from seeing what she sees - the putrid smell of rotting flesh radiates from the deep wound in his side and he's feverish and delirious. She gasps as his eyes snap open and he stares at her in fear and panic - they're bright blue and, with his dirty blonde hair (although matted and lice-ridden) she can't help but be reminded of two very different men who are both very dear to her in their own unique ways. She thinks of Matthew, her beloved cousin, fighting out there alongside men very much like the one she nurses now and wondering, perhaps even fearing, that one day he could be the one lying here as she tends to his wounds. Then there's the other one - Tom - the man who captured her heart like no other man ever could, and she can't help but pray that he's safe wherever in the world he may be these days.

She's good at keeping spirits up and the patients like her for it - Nurse Crawley, the pretty girl who can put a smile on their faces in the darkest of times - and she's just finished tending to a young boy from Scotland who's lost his foot to infection when Kitty finds her.

"There's somebody asking for you," she says.

"Somebody's asking for me?" replies Sybil with a smirk.

Kitty nods. "He seems to think that he knows you..."

"He?"  
"One of the soldiers... he's delirious, but kept saying your name over and over again."

"Take me to him," she says, trying her best not to panic. "It's Matthew... oh God, it is isn't it?" She wills herself to stay calm and professional as she follows Kitty, the walk to the next ward feeling like miles rather than metres. She tastes the bile rising in her throat as she sees his face for the first time in so very long - it isn't Matthew. It's so much worse.

"TOM!"

He hears her voice so loud and clear - like the song of a nightingale in the hours before dawn. He doesn't open his eyes though, to do so takes far too much effort and even that causes him a great deal of pain.

Sybil perches herself on the edge of his bed and brushes his matted hair away from his face, a stray tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.

"I'll give you two sometime alone," says Kitty. "I'll cover for you if Sister Jenkins asks."

Sybil smiles. "Thank you," she says to her friend as she takes hold of Tom's hand.

"You came," he says with a weak smile. "I knew you would."

"Hush now," she says soothingly. "Try and sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes flutter open - they're hollow and empty and it's almost like he's a shadow of the man he once was. War has changed so much about him but not the way he feels about her. "I can die happy now that I've seen you again."

"You're not going to die," she replies almost forcefully as her tears begin to fall thick and fast. "You're going to stay here and we'll make you better... I will make you better, I promise."

"I'm done fighting, Sybil."

"No... I need you to fight just one more time. Please don't give up."

"On you? Never."

She smiles and leans forward to press a tender kiss to his forehead. He's going to be alright...

He just has to be.

-xxx-

"Nurse Crawley!"  
Sybil wakes to the sound of the ward sister's voice and it takes her a moment to realise where she is. "Sister Jenkins, I'm sorry I..."  
"Your shift finished five hours ago, Crawley," she says."You ought to go home."

Sybil's gaze flicks to Tom and then back to her superior. "I can't just leave him."

"But you must," says Sister Jenkins. "You need your rest as much as he does... he'll still be here in the morning."

Sybil likes Sister Jenkins - she's by far one of the nicest senior nurses that she's come across and she has a compassionate heart when it comes to the girls in her charge. In fact, she would go as far as to say that she reminds her of Mrs Hughes back at Downton. "Will you tell him where I am if he wakes up?"

"I will, now go home... that's an order."

Sybil reluctantly lets go of Tom's hand, plants a quick kiss on his cheek and proceeds to leave the hospital. When she finally arrives at her Aunt Rosamund's house in Belgravia, she throws herself down on the bed and sobs until she falls asleep.

**_-xxx-_**

Tom begins to recover in leaps and bounds - having Sybil around has certainly done wonders for his health. She's there beside him whenever she has a break and for a few hours after her shift, keeping him talking and making him laugh just as she used to do when they were in Ireland.

"So how did you end up becoming a nurse?" he asks one afternoon when she brings him some books from her aunt's library.

"I received a letter to say that a very dear friend of mine had been killed in action," she tells him. "It wasn't the first nor was it the last but I just knew that I had to do something instead of sitting around and wait for our boys to come back home like so many women I knew were doing. I spoke to my cousin, Isobel..."

"Matthew's mother?"

"That's the one," she says. "Anyway, she suggested that I might try nursing. I looked for any openings on the course in York but there were none and so I ended up here. Papa only let me go on the condition that I stayed with Aunt Rosamund, but she's swanned off to America with her latest beau and so I'm all alone in a house in Eaton Square for the time being. I love it though and I actually feel like I'm doing something worthwhile for once."

"I think it's wonderful," says Tom, taking her hand in his and caressing her knuckles with his thumb. "I think **you** are wonderful."

"You flatter me, Mr Branson."

"It's Private Branson now, actually."

"So what about you? How exactly did you end up in the army? I didn't think conscription had made it as far as Ireland yet..."

"I wasn't in Ireland when I was conscripted. I've been living in Liverpool with Kieran for a while now. Both he and Éamon are there so it made sense... after I left the Donnelley's I had nowhere else to go. Work was hard to come by in Dublin and so Kieran managed to get me a job at the garage with him. It's not exactly what I wanted but beggars can't really be choosers. Anyway, conscription came in and I was called up."  
Sybil sighs. "I can't believe you've been in Liverpool all this time," she says. "What a small world this is."

Tom nods. "And what were the chances of me ending up in the hospital where you work?"

"Slim, I'd say," replies Sybil. "Do you think somebody's trying to tell us something?"

"I don't know... but I'd like to think that it was a sign of better things to come."

Sybil smiles. "I think I'd like that too."

"Then promise me something... when I get out of here, you'll let me court you properly. No hiding this time."

She squeezes his hand and leans in to brush her lips against his ever so gently. "Does that answer your question?"

"Aye, I think it does."

**_-xxx-_**

He's discharged from hospital a week later and, after much pestering on his part, Sybil agrees to meet him after her shift so that they can go out to dinner to celebrate. He takes her to a small pub in the city which he is delighted to learn is frequented by many of his countrymen. They make a rather striking pair as they find a secluded table in the corner by the bar and nobody could ever have guessed that the nurse and her soldier beau had met for the first time as a Lady and the chauffeur.

"You're eating much better than you were," says Sybil as she watches him tuck into his food. "I'm glad to see that you're well again."

"I've had the best nurse in London looking after me," he replies with a smirk. "Pass on my thanks to her next time you see her."

Sybil rolls her eyes. "You know, many of the others were jealous of the fact that I got to spend so much time with you. They were bitterly disappointed when they learnt that you were already spoken for."

"Don't you go inflating my ego now, Nurse Crawley, my helmet won't fit."

Sybil's face drops. "Will you have to go back?" she asks quietly.

"I honestly don't know," he replies, reaching out across the table to take hold of her hand. "But right now I don't want to think about it... I want to enjoy the time we have together before I go up to Liverpool."  
"Liverpool! Tom, you're in no fit state to travel."

"I have nowhere else to go."

"Nonsense," she replies. "You'll stay with me at my aunt's house. As I said, there's nobody else there and I'd welcome the company. Besides, I can keep an eye on you that way and make sure you don't get any nasty infections."

"Is that wise?" he asks. "Given our... history."

Sybil blushes at the memory of some of the things they'd got up to in Ireland - how they couldn't keep their hands off one another and how it had led to that fateful night where their father had discovered them in his bed. "It's alright," she says. "I trust you... more to the point, I trust myself to leave you at night with nothing more than a goodnight kiss."

Tom laughs. "So... do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Still love me?"

"Oh darling," she sighs and squeezes his hand. "I would have thought that obvious by now. Of course I do..."

That's all he needs to know for now.

**_-xxx-_**

December comes to London bringing with it a flurry of snow which is quickly washed away by the rain, leaving behind a rather unpleasant brown sludge on the roads and later the perilous ice on account of the plummeting temperatures. Much to his dismay, Sybil forbids Tom from leaving the house whilst she's out at work for fear that he'll come down with a cold.

"Love, I've been in the trenches," he protests one night at dinner. "This is nothing... trust me."

Sybil sighs. "Fine," she says, giving in at last. "I have a day off tomorrow, we can go Christmas shopping."

"On second thoughts, I think I'd rather stay in," he mumbles. "I've never really been good at buying presents."  
She smiles almost smugly. "Well that's why you have me."

The following evening sees them cooped up in the drawing room, sprawled out on the floor as they wrap the items that they'd bought. They'd agreed that it would be a nice gesture to send some chocolate, tea and socks to his friends and comrades still out in France along with a letter to his commanding officer to update him of his progress. In what little spare time she had, Sybil had beautifully embroidered some handkerchiefs and they'd decided that, with a few quick stitches, she could probably monogram them and they could be sent to his mother, sister and sisters-in-law and so the only real major issues with what to buy had been for her own family.

"Are you sure they won't mind you staying down here for Christmas?" he asks.

Sybil shakes her head as she sips her tea. "No, I told them I was working," she says. "Mama was disappointed but I promised that I would go up to Downton for the annual servants' ball... maybe you should come with me."

Tom laughs nervously. "I don't think that's such a good idea," he says. "Your father and I didn't exactly part on the best of terms."  
"Mmm, that's true I suppose," she replies rather sadly. "Would you mind terribly if I still went though? Perhaps you could visit your brothers in Liverpool, you'll be much better by then."

"Sounds like a... ow."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," he replies with a grimace. "My shoulder's been giving me a bit o'jip though... I think it's the cold."

Sybil shuffles closer to him. "Here, let me see," she says and begins unbuttoning his shirt. Blood has seeped through his bandages and his undershirt from the wound in his shoulder.

"I think your stitches have come undone," she says. She's seen this type of thing happen countless times with the soldiers on the wards - some of them somehow manage to reopen their wounds as they thrash around in bed, their sleep plagued by nightmares of what they've seen at the Front. "I'll clean it for you and then come to the hospital with me in the morning to have it looked at properly." She returns a few moments later with some clean dressings in hand to find a very shirtless Tom sitting there on the floor having removed both his undershirt and his bloodied bandages.

"I just thought it would help."

"I... umm, yes, thank you," she says, not entirely sure where to look. "_Oh stop it, Sybil, you are a **nurse**. You've seen many a naked torso before._" She tries to be subtle as she begins to clean away the blood, letting her gaze wander every now and then - he's leaner than when they last met, the muscles in his arms and shoulders more defined and his jaw line so much sharper - oh that jaw, she could kiss it forever (especially with the hint of stubble upon it as there is now).

"Ow!" he yelps as she presses a bit too hard on the wound.

"Sorry," she apologises and begins to dress it again. "There, that should do for now." She doesn't realise that she's let her hand linger a little too long until her eyes meet his. He leans forward to kiss her but she pulls away almost as soon as his lips meet hers. She can't do this - not here, not now with him half dressed in front of a fire. She would lose herself in the moment and end up doing more than just kissing. She still wants what she wanted in Ireland though, but he's still so physically fragile and she's terrified of hurting him - if he's managing to pull out his stitches in his sleep then who knows what other harm he's capable of accidentally inflicting upon himself.

"I... I should go to bed," she says, turning away so that she can't see the look of rejection upon his face. "I'll have Wilkins post these tomorrow. Hopefully they should get there on time... goodnight, Tom."

"Goodnight, love," he replies, feeling a little bit better when she gives him a chaste kiss before heading upstairs.

**_-xxx-_**

Christmas was a quiet affair with the two of them spending much of the day curled up together on one of the sofas in the library reading 'A Christmas Carol' aloud to each other. The servants had been given the day off to visit their families and other relations and so it was unlikely that they would be disturbed. Sybil had managed to get the day off work on the promise that she would remain on call should she be required in the event of an emergency.

"This isn't exactly how I imagined my Christmas would be spent," says Tom. The book is long forgotten and the pair are quite content to just lie in silence listening to the crackle of the fire and the steady sound of each other's breathing. "But it's rather nice."

"How did you think you'd be spending it?"

"Knee deep in mud and maybe having a break from all the fighting," he replies. "The past few years, there's been a temporary truce of sorts on Christmas Day... they even played football in nineteen-fourteen."

Sybil smiles. "I remember reading about that in the newspaper. Matthew was there, he said it was the strangest thing but it really made him realise that these were men just like them... men who were just following orders and fighting for a cause not their own."

"I know what he means. Sometimes you have these moments of clarity and you wonder what the hell you're actually doing. If I went outside and shot a man dead right now, I'd be hanged for it... put me in the middle of a battlefield and suddenly it's an act of heroism and duty."

She snuggles closer to him, if that were at all possible, and toys with the buttons on his waistcoat. "Did you ever think about refusing to fight?"

"Once or twice," he admits. "But the consequences of such an action just weren't worth it." He feels a shudder down his spine as he thinks of the boy in the forest - he still hasn't told her about that and, even though he loves her with every fibre of his being, he's not sure he ever will. "But there are some things worth fighting for."

She sits up slightly and meets his eyes. "Like what exactly?"

"You."

This time when he kisses her, she doesn't pull away - she's more than happy to get a little carried away because it's exactly what they both need at this particular moment in time. He hasn't kissed her like this since Ireland - it's a clash of tongues and teeth and wandering hands, of sighs and whimpers of pleasure and contentment as they lose themselves in one another completely.

"I love you," he manages to whisper in her ear as they pull apart. "And you... you are worth every second I spend in that hell. I've thought about you every single day since the last time I saw you... I got you a present, by the way."

Sybil kisses the tip of his nose. "You didn't have to and... oh."

"It's not what you think it is," he says, seeing her reaction to the ring that he's somehow managed to retrieve from his pocket. "It's a claddagh ring... I was going to give it to you the day you left that summer but things changed."

"You've kept it all this time?"

Tom nods. "I think I always knew that I'd find you again someday," he says, taking hold of her right hand and sliding it onto her finger. "With these hands I give you my heart and I crown it with my love."

"It's beautiful," she says, admiring it for a moment before kissing him in thanks. "But I didn't get you anything."

"You did though," he says, toying with the strands of hair that have come loose from the knot at the nape of her neck. "You saved me in so many ways. I was ready to give up... I was ready to die that day in the hospital, then I heard your voice and you were begging me to fight... so I did. If I hadn't, then I wouldn't be here now."

"I do still love you, you know," she tells him. "I know I haven't said it, but I do."

"Then that's all I need... knowing that, I can get through anything."

"Me too, my darling, me too."

She knows exactly what she's going to give him for Christmas.

**_-xxx-_**

He's sitting alone in his bedroom reading over the letter that had come for him yesterday but which he'd refused to read until now. He'd seen the return address written on the back of the envelope and decided that it was best just to pretend, just for a little while, that this letter hadn't come at all. He stuffs it back into the envelope, hides it away in the drawer and stares pensively at the carpet, so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn't notice her slip around the door. She looks breathtaking and almost angelic in a delicate nightgown and with her hair unbound, her raven curls cascading down her back and framing her face.

Sybil moves to stand in front of him and takes a deep breath - there's absolutely no going back after this. She should be shocked by her own boldness as she slips the thin straps of her gown off her shoulders, letting it slip from her body and pool on the floor at her feet, but no, instead she feels rather empowered by the fact that she's standing before him completely naked, taking matters into her own hands at long last.

"Ireland," she says. "That night... only this time, there's nobody to stop us."

He doesn't need telling twice.


	7. Love So Long Denied Me

_**This is a much shorter chapter than the others but it didn't make sense to carry it on any further than I have. Word of warning, this is most definitely an M rated chapter but I'm not upping the rating until I've decided whether or not there will be any more sexytimes in the future - so, yeah, if it's not your thing then you might want to skip the first few paragraphs. Enjoy and let me know what you think (oh and I can't write smut to save my life so do forgive me!) :) x**_

* * *

"_You have brought the gift of life  
__And love so long denied me_."

**_Suddenly - Les Misérables  
_**

He places his hands on her hips and pulls her closer to him, pressing a tender kiss to the bare flesh of her stomach.

"So beautiful," he whispers and encourages her to join him on the bed. He hovers over her and kisses her tenderly. "Sure about this?" he asks in an echo of that summer evening.

"Completely," she replies, reaching for the bottom of his shirt and helping him to pull it off over his head. She takes a moment to really study his battle ravaged body properly for the first time and he closes his eyes as her fingers ghost over a scar just above his hipbone. There's so much she wants to say to him but somehow she knows that words just can't express how she feels and so she pulls him in for another his, threading her fingers through his hair as she pulls him so impossibly close. His lips leave hers and he kisses a line across her jaw, down her throat and chest before finally taking one rosy nipple into his mouth as his calloused hands caress the swell of her breasts creating the most delightful friction. Her head rolls back against the pillows and she sighs and whimpers as he continues his ministrations. He reaches down and presses on her knee, encouraging her to spread her legs as his kisses begin to travel further south. She clutches the sheets in anticipation, her breathing heavy as she awaits his next move.

He meets her eyes for a fraction of a second before placing his head between her thighs. She cries out in pleasure as his tongue so cleverly caresses her in the most intimate way and she can already feel herself rushing towards the kind of ecstasy that she's only ever read about in certain books - books that one absolutely must keep hidden under one's pillow - and she practically begs him for more. She moans loudly as his finger teases her entrance before slipping into her wet heat, soon to be followed by another as he curls them inside of her, thrusting in time with each flick of his tongue. She arches up off the bed, screaming his name as she reaches her peak, collapsing back down onto it and beginning to giggle as she relishes in the feeling of her first orgasm.

Tom chuckles against her skin as he kisses his way back up her body before finally pulling her into his arms. "How do you feel?" he asks.

"Wonderful," she says, still in something of a daze. "Absolutely wonderful."

"We don't have to do anything else if you don't want to."

Sybil sighs and shakes her head. "No, I want to... I want **you,**" she says, caressing his chest and exploring the play of muscles beneath his skin. His own fingers find the bare flesh at the small of her back, pulling her closer and into a heated kiss - they both know that there is no going back now and she nods her consent one last time as he once again trails kisses across her jaw and down her neck to her collar bone. He can't believe that this is actually happening, that she's here and completely naked underneath him, chewing on her bottom lip seductively as she anticipates what is to come. He yelps in surprise when she playfully squeezes his backside as he pulls down his pants, her laughter is like sunshine and springtime and so much more beautiful than even the most spectacular symphonies. Neither of them can wait much longer - she's more than ready for him and, nudging her thighs apart, he positions himself between them, claiming her lips in a tender kiss as their bodies come together at last. Her fingernails bite into the flesh of his back as he pushes through her maidenhead, marking her as his body and soul.

"Are you alright?" he asks, stilling his moments for a moment to allow her to adjust to this unfamiliar sensation.

Sybil nods. "I'm fine... really," she says, gazing up at him with a look of complete adoration in her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replies.

They move slowly, languidly, neither wanting to rush this as they give in to absolute pleasure and it is, in a word, perfect. It's not hurried or fumbled like so many of his past encounters, the meaningless follies of his youth where the girls he'd grown up with had been more than happy to show a lad a good time. This is something special and, while both of them are each capable of giving into their primitive desires, there is something so much more erotic about being together like this, about the feel of skin-on-skin and the sound of breathless moans and sighs in each other's ears as their bodies are consumed by fire under their lover's touch. The pace quickens as they climb towards their peak, her hips rising up off the bed to meet his thrusts, her head thrown back and lips parted in ecstasy as she cries out his name, fingers fisting into his hair as she wills him to carry on, to never stop as she hurtles towards the epitome of pleasure once more. With one last thrust, he too finds himself spiralling over the edge and it's almost too much to bear as he collapses on top of her, rolling to the side slightly so as not to crush her under his weight.

She cuddles up to his chest and yawns. "Thank you," she says as her eyes flutter closed. "That was... do you know, I can't even begin to describe it."

"I didn't hurt you?" asks Tom as he pulls the covers over them.

Sybil shakes her head. "Only for a moment at first, but I know you didn't mean too," she says. "After that I felt as though it was fine."

"Just fine?"

She digs her elbow into his ribs as she rolls over so that they're spooned together. "Remember what we said about your ego?" she teases. "But yes, if you must know, it **was **more than fine. I've never felt more alive."  
"Good, I'm glad," he says. "I meant what I said... you are magnificent and I will love you forever."

"And I you," she replies with another yawn. "We should sleep," she says. "Goodnight, Tom."

"Goodnight, my love," he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Sweet dreams."

**_-xxx-_**

His own dreams are far from sweet - he's chasing a raven haired girl through a forest in the snow. He catches up to her at last but, as she turns to look at him, her face twists and contorts into that of the soldier he executed. A deathly cold hand reaches out to him and a guttural scream escapes the boy's lips.

"Tom!"

He awakes with a start to the sound of her voice, his whole body is shaking and his palms are damp with sweat.

"It's alright," she says, running a hand soothingly through his hair. "It's alright, it was just a nightmare... I'm here, you're fine."

He falls into her embrace and allows himself to cry for the very first time. "I've done something awful," he says, clinging to her as though she's his very lifeline. "I... I didn't have a choice and..."

"Tell me," she whispers. "Please, talk to me."

Hesitantly, he begins to open up to her - it's the first time he's spoken about this to anyone and it feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders at long last.

"He didn't deserve it, did he?" he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He didn't deserve to die like that."

Sybil shakes her head. "No, I don't believe that he did," she says. "But it has absolutely no reflection on you whatsoever. You're a good man, Tom, more of a man than anyone else I've ever met."

"You're a saint, do you know that?" he says, tightening his hold on her. "But there's something else I have to tell you... they're sending me back to France."

"What?" she says in disbelief, sitting up slightly and subconsciously resting her hand over the bandages on his shoulder. "No, it's too soon... you can't go."

"But I have to," he says, reaching out and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "And at least I have something to come back for now."

"When do you leave?"

"Wednesday."

Lovingly, she takes his face in her hands and nuzzles her nose against his. "Then stop wasting what little time we have left and make love to me again..."

He's more than happy to oblige her.

**_-xxx-_**

She accompanies him to the station on Wednesday morning where he'll take the lunchtime train down to the coast and then on to France first thing in the morning. Despite the morbid nature of this outing, she can't help but admire how handsome he looks in his uniform - now with a single chevron upon it on account of his recent promotion - and is overwhelmed by a sense of pride at the fact that she can call this brave man her own.

"You didn't have to come with me, you know," he says.

"I know, but I wanted to."  
"So I suppose this is it then," he says, dropping his kit bag to the ground and taking both her hands in his as they stand on the platform beside the waiting train. "Thank you, for looking after me... for loving me... for everything."

Sybil smiles weakly and swallows her tears. "It was nothing, I..."

"Sybil, it was **not** nothing," he interrupts, taking a deep breath before asking something that takes her completely by surprise. "Marry me, please."

"I... Tom, you do know you need my father's permission?" she says with a tearful laugh. "And something tells me you aren't going to get it."

"Then we'll run away together," he says, staring at her adoringly as he pulls off his cap. "And I don't need his permission, I only need yours. I won't always be a lowly soldier, I'll make something of myself, I promise."

"I know you will!"

"Then bet on me," he begs. "And if your family casts you off, it won't be forever. They'll come around. And until they do, I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."

He jaw drops and deep down in her heart she knows that there's only one answer she can give. "Ask me again," she says, taking a leaf out of her eldest sister's book for a moment and demanding just a little bit of propriety. "Properly this time."

Tom chuckles and, just as his lady wishes, gets down on one knee before her. "Lady Sybil Crawley, I love you with everything that I am... will you marry me and send me off to war a happy man?"

"Yes!" she says. "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

He gets to his feet and pulls her into a fierce kiss, the pair of them pulling apart laughing as soldiers on the train who have been observing this tender moment start whooping and cheering.

"I have to go," he says. "I don't want to, but I have to."

He boards the train and holds onto her hand as long as he possibly can, only letting go as the train begins to pull out of the station.

As she watches him disappear into the distance, Sybil realises that not once in her life has she ever felt so alone and afraid.


	8. Homeward Bound

_**So, as I said on Tumblr before t****his is quite a nice chapter. I actually mean that. Not a "nice when you consider what's going to happen" sort of nice, but an actual genuine "aww" sort of nice. It's just nice. I have a bit of a fascination with the relationship between Tom and his family, especially his mother (I think it's probably because it's one of the few things canon hasn't screwed up yet) and so this chapter sort of looks at that... I'm a lawyer, not a historian, so I don't know how much leave soldiers would have had and stuff. Let's just call it artistic license, shall we? Anyway, thank you so much for your continued support on this story - without it I don;t think I would have found the inspiration to continue. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

* * *

"_The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return_"

_**Christian - Moulin Rouge**_

**_Spring 1917_**

_My dearest Tom,_

_How it feels like an age since I saw you last - I miss you so terribly much and cannot wait for the day when I finally get to hold you in my arms once more. _

_I've been keeping myself busy at the hospital these past few months, we're seeing more and more soldiers than ever being brought in though I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that things seem to be getting worse out there. Perhaps this is a sign that the end is coming - Mama always says that a cold must get worse before it gets better, though I suppose this may be wishful thinking on my part. Can you compare common illness to war? I'm not sure you can, but I live in hope nonetheless._

_Oh, my darling, I miss you so terribly much. I know that this letter isn't long, I've managed to steal a moment alone in the middle of my shift - I'm sure it won't be long before I'm caught. I just thought that I'd write to you as the men we see in here say that it's the little things like this that can brighten up your day. _

_Oh I do hope you come home soon - in one piece this time, might I add. _

_I think and pray for you every day._

_All my love, _

_Sybil._

**_-xxx-_**

_My darling Sybil, _

_You were right; your letter most certainly did cheer me up. Well, as well as one can be cheered up out here. _

_Do you know, I thought of home for the first time in a while yesterday - springtime in Ireland, especially in the country, really is spectacular. Everything is so new and fresh and it's such a welcome change from the frost and the snow. Oh how I wish that you could see it - I'd love nothing more than to be able to take you back there. Perhaps when we're married. We could look for work there or... I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. _

_Speaking of Ireland, I'm due some leave towards the end of next month and I think that it's about time I went back. I haven't seen my family in so very long - Órlaith's almost seventeen, can you believe it? I'm yet to meet this fiancé of hers though - apparently he needs my approval before they can go ahead with the wedding planning. _

_I miss you too, my love, and I'll try to get to London for a day or two but, at this moment in time, I can't promise you anything - only that I will love you until my dying day, whether that be tomorrow or a hundred years from now. We'll be together again soon enough._

_I'll be seeing you. _

_Yours, _

_Tom._

**_-xxx-_**

He knocks three times on the front door of his mother's house with a shaking hand - if anyone were to ask, he couldn't possibly describe how it felt to be standing here on her doorstep at long last. When no answer comes, he knocks again, laughing to himself as he hears his mother's exasperated ranting as she comes towards the door.

"Alright, alright!" she shouts in Irish. "I'm coming."

"It's only me, Mam," he says, pulling off his cap as she opens the door. "I left my key in France."

Aileen's jaw drops and she flings her arms around her youngest son. "Tommy," she sighs, pulling him close and fighting back her tears. "My boy, you're back."

Tom pulls away and plants a kiss on his mother's forehead. "For a little while, yes."

"Well it's better than nothing," she smiles. "Come on then, don't just stand there."

His smile doesn't fade as he steps through the door of his childhood home, taking in the familiar sights, sounds and smells as he hangs up his greatcoat on the peg. He looks up and sees a tall blonde girl running downstairs towards him.

"Tommy!" she squeals, launching herself into his arms. "You're home."

Tom laughs as he spins his little sister around before putting her down on the floor, cupping her face in his hands. "Where's that scrawny little girl gone, eh?" he chuckles and pulls her into a tight embrace - she'd only just turned fourteen the last time he'd seen her and it amazes him just how much of a beautiful young woman she's grown into. "I've missed you so much," he says. "Both of you," he adds, looking to his mother.

"You're just in time," says Aileen. "Éamon and Maeve are here with the baby."

"They're back in Ireland."

"I wrote to you about it last month," says Órlaith with a frown. "Did you not get my letter?"

Tom shakes his head. "Post's temperamental at the best of times," he tells her. "Things have been a bit chaotic recently."  
"Is it really as bad as you read in the papers?" asks Aileen, instantly regretting it when she sees her boy's face pale at the mention of war.

He nods feebly before brushing off his ease with that bright smile of his. "Enough of that, there'll be plenty of time to talk about that later," he says. "Right now, I have a new baby..."

"Niece."

"A new baby niece to meet."

It's just like old times as the whole of the Branson clan (with the exception of Kieran who is still working in Liverpool) sits around the kitchen table, Tom monopolising little baby Aggie with whom he's instantly fallen in love with just as he had done with his other nephews and nieces. He studies the little girl's face, envious at how peaceful her dreams must be and how obvious she is to all the hate going on in the world - but here in this room with these people, she is safe and she is loved and, just for a moment, Tom feels as though he is too. He smiles as her tiny hand clutches at his finger and he knows that someday he will hold his and Sybil's child in his arms like this - it's that very thought, the one of their future together, which keeps him fighting even when all hope seems lost.

"You're miles away, Tommy," laughs Niall. "Anywhere nice."

"Just... thinking," he replies, handing a now squirming Aggie back to her mother. "About how different it is here. I know how things are here, but it's... different. I don't know, I can't really explain it. I might be sitting here wearing a British uniform, but it's not a British King that I fight for. **This** is what I fight for... my family, especially the children. I want Aggie and the others to grow up in a peaceful world."

There's a contemplative silence as the rest of the family listen to what Tom has to say and they can almost hear Ted Branson's pearls of wisdom in the youngest boy's words.

"Well I'm proud of you for that, Tommy," Aileen smiles tearfully. "I know your Da probably would have had one or two things to say about it but I'm sure he'd feel the same."

"Thanks, Mam," he replies. "It means a lot to hear you say that... if you don't mind, I think I'm going to go to bed. It's been a long day."

**_-xxx-_**

There's a light tapping at his door some time later and in steps Aileen with a cup of tea and a biscuit placed on the saucer beside it.

"I knew you wouldn't be one to go to sleep so early, even when you're tired," she says, setting them down on the bedside table.

Tom chuckles. "You used to do this when I was a lad," he says, setting down his pen. "Always a cup of tea and a biscuit before bed."

"You'll always be my little boy," she replies, really studying her son for the first time since he came home - he's different from when she saw him last. Gone is the boyish roundness from his face, his jaw strong and his shoulders broad now. Of all her sons, Tom resembles his father most and it makes Aileen's heart hurt to think that her beloved husband didn't live to see the men their boys had become.

"Mam!"

"I mean it Tommy, you'll understand it yourself whenever you have children. I saw the way you looked when you held Aggie... just a shame you haven't found yourself a nice girl yet. Still, I suppose there hasn't really been much time for that recently."

Tom runs a hand through his hair. "Well, actually," he says. "There's something I think I should tell you... though you must promise to keep it secret."

"Go on," she says, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"There is a girl... the most wonderful girl... and we're engaged."

"Oh, Tommy!" she exclaims with happiness. "That's wonderful. Though you never mentioned anything in your letters."

"That's because it all happened quite quickly," he replies. "There are... other reasons, too. Don't worry, I'm not making an honest woman of her, she isn't pregnant. It's just that her family wouldn't exactly approve and she's only just turned twenty. We'd need her father's permission for us to marry."

Aileen sighs. "I see... and who is this mystery woman?"

"She's not a mystery, Mam," he says with a smile. "At least not to you. You've met her before. Do you remember the girl I brought back here the summer the war started?"

"That pretty little English thing?" asks his mother.

"Sybil," he nods. "The strangest thing happened. When I was wounded, she was one of the nurses in the hospital where they sent me. She looked after me and, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be sitting here now. I knew the second I saw her face that I was still in love with her and I asked her to marry me the day I went back to France."

Aileen hadn't been sure what to make of the aristocrat that had stolen her son's heart all those years ago but now she knows that she's never been more grateful for anything or anyone. "She saved you?"

"She did, Mam. I love her and I hope you'll give us your blessing... we might need it soon enough."

"Can I... can I see?" she asks, changing the subject slightly. Tom knows exactly what she means though and he pulls his shirt collar aside to reveal the still pink scar in his shoulder from the gunshot wound. "Oh my darling boy," she weeps, pulling him into a tight embrace. "My brave, brave boy... are you writing to her now?"

Tom nods. "Yes."

"Foolish child!" she chides. "As lovely as it is to see you, I want you on the first boat back to England in the morning. You're going to go to London and find that girl of yours..."  
"But, Mam..."

"No, listen to me," she interrupts. "You're going to find that girl of yours and you're going to marry her before you go back to the Front."

"But... she's not old enough to marry without permission. We'd thought about Gretna Green when I had some longer leave."

"Then lie," says Aileen, much to her son's surprise. "Say a thousand Hail Mary's if you have to, but do whatever you have to to make her yours, Tommy. You love her, yes?"

"More than anything... she's my absolute world."

"Then go to her," she says. "Tell her that you love her. I never told your father enough... it's better a few days of happiness than a lifetime of regret and, should the worst happen, I will welcome her with open arms into this family."

Tom can't help but smile. "Do you mean that, Mam?"

"After what she's done for you, yes. She makes you happy and she keeps you fighting... what mother could possibly want more for her son?"

Tom embraces his mother once more and kissing the top of her head. "You're a wonderful woman, do you know that? I don't think that I tell you that enough."

Once his mother has left, Tom abandons writing his letter to Sybil and instead writes one to his mother, brothers and sisters, only to be opened should the worst happen.

**_-xxx-_**

**_London, two days later_**

The laughter of the four young nurses echoes through around the corridor as they begin to make their way home after the end of another shift - well, they've decided to stop off at a nearby pub owned by one of the girls' husbands for a belated celebration of Sybil's birthday.

"Well now," says Kitty as she catches sight of a particularly handsome young soldier leaning ever so casually against the wall just inside the main doors of the hospital. "What have we got here."

The soldier turns and smiles at them, doffing his cap as he meets the eyes of one of them in particular.

"TOM!" Sybil squeals, recognising him instantly and runs towards him in a way that would make her grandmother complain about unladylike behaviour. "Oh my darling," she says, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him firmly on the lips. "I've missed you so much."

"And I you, my love," he whispers in her ear, quickly glancing over his shoulder at Sybil's friends who all look as though they're about to burst into tears at the sight before them. "But I think I'm interrupting something."

"Oh," replies Sybil, suddenly remembering where she is. "Girls, I'm not sure I can come tonight. Things have... well, I think I do have plans for tonight after all," she says with a wink and their giggling doesn't go unnoticed by Tom who raises an eyebrow at his fiancée.

Once the girls have gone, she pulls him in for another kiss - it's slow and tender and says so much more than words ever could in this moment.

"Hello," he says quietly as they pull away after what seems like an eternity.

"Hello," she repeats back, fighting her tears as her emotions threaten to consume her. "I can't believe you're actually here... I thought you were going to Ireland."

"I was... and then I came straight back here again."

"Why?" she asks, furrowing her brow in confusion.

Tom kisses her nose and takes her hands in his, just as he had done the day he proposed. "On my mother's orders... she wants me to marry you."

"Well that's good," replies Sybil. "Considering that you've already asked me and all."

Tom shakes his head. "That's not quite what she meant... she wants me to actually marry you. Tomorrow... if you'll still have me."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he nods. "I went to the registry office as soon as I got off the train from Liverpool yesterday. We can be married by this time tomorrow if it's what you want."

Sybil's jaw drops. "Of course it's what I want, Tom. I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you..."

"That might not be very long once I go back."

"Don't talk like that!" she says, a little more aggressively than intended. "You and I will be sitting on a bench under a tree somewhere in Ireland, old and grey whilst we watch our grandchildren play together... you'll see."

"So, you want marry me tomorrow then."

"Yes... I do."

"I do... I rather like the sound of that."

"As do I, my darling, as do I."

It was settled...

They were getting married in the morning and absolutely nothing was going to stop them.


	9. Borrowed Time

**_I apologise profusely for the delay in posting this chapter! I've been so busy at Uni (as always) but I am still aiming for a chapter every week to ten days. I'm sorry I can't give you something amazing to make up for it though - I'm not too sure what to make of this one as it was difficult to write. On a final note, the magazine Sybil finds herself in posession of is called 'the Pearl' and was published in the mid/late 1800s - give it a read online, it's rather... interesting to say the very least. Enjoy and let me know what you think! :) x_**

* * *

"_Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence's cell.  
There stays a husband to make you a wife_."

**_Romeo and Juliet - Act Two, Scene Five_**

She meets his eyes as they pass in the hall, suppressing a girlish giggle as he smiles and nods at her. It's so nice to see a new face around the house, what with Lady Rosamund still in America and Lady Sybil out most of the day at the hospital - and it's certainly a handsome face at that.

"Lady Sybil's soldier friend's back again," she says as she enters the kitchen - the staff are smaller in number than they were in her last position but it's a pleasant house to work in, even if it is a little dull at times.

The cook, Mrs Cooper, raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Oh I'd say he was more than a friend," she says, not even looking up at the young maid as she kneads some dough for bread. "Mr Stewart said they looked awful cosy the last time he was here."

"Lady Sybil... and 'im? Why would she go with someone like him when she could have anyone? I bet she could be a duchess if she wanted to be."

"Well that's not for us to pass judgement on now, is it?"

"I know but..."

"I know what you're thinking," says Mrs Cooper. "And he's a handsome lad, I'll give you that, but you stay out of it, Edna Braithwaite... there are rules to this life and you'd better learn to follow them if you want to stay here."

Edna huffs and slumps down at the kitchen table - "_There's no harm in looking_," she thinks to herself. "_And if looking leads to something else then so be it_."

**_-xxx-_**

He's in the middle of getting dressed after his bath when there's a knock at the door to his room. Knowing that it's most likely Sybil, he tosses his shirt on the bed only to be unpleasantly surprised when he sees the blonde housemaid he'd encountered earlier.

"I... I brought you some fresh towels, sir," she says, subtlety quite clearly not being her forte as her eyes hungrily roam his bare chest.

"Thank you," replies Tom, still unused to being referred to as 'sir'. "Though I've already got some."

"It must be awfully hard out there... in France."

"I... erm... yes, very," he flusters, reaching for his discarded shirt. "I'm sorry, but I really do need to get changed."  
Edna looks up at him from under her eyelids in an obvious attempt at seduction. "Well I think your very brave... you'll be the heroes we tell our children about in the years to come."

"I wish you wouldn't romanticise it," he replies, his voice wobbling and uncertain as she moves closer to him, quite obviously sizing him up. "We're not heroes we... Sybil!"

"Edna?" asks Sybil, folding her arms across her chest. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" She hates giving orders to the staff - both here and at Downton - but there's just something about walking in on a housemaid eyeing up your half-naked fiancé that makes one want to exert authority.

"Yes, milady," replies Edna with a slight curtsey. "Sorry, milady."

"Sybil, I... she..." Tom stutters once they're alone and the door closed behind them. He's interrupted as she claims his lips in a fierce and possessive kiss.

"Mine," she all but growls. "You're mine.

"And **you're** jealous," he smirks.

"Am not," she replies, her hands snaking down his chest towards his belt buckle and further still, smirking as she feels him begin to harden beneath her touch - it never ceases to amaze her just how much power she wields over him.

"Christ," he hisses as he succumbs to the pleasure she's bringing him (even though he knows she's not even trying). It's been too long since he last felt a touch other than that of his own hand, too long since he heard her mewls and moans of pleasure as he brings her to a toe curling orgasm, showing her just how much he loves her as he worships her body. More importantly, it's been too long since he last felt so alive. "Isn't this bad luck?" he asks with a smirk. "Me seeing the bride before the wedding?"  
Just as she's about to slide her hand beneath the waistband of his underwear, she pulls away and steps back from him. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she replies teasingly. "Well I'll just be heading to bed then... on my own."  
"You minx," he chuckles. "Though what am I supposed to do about this?" he adds, his gaze flickering to the very prominent bulge between his legs.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," she giggles. "Though I will make it up to you because, when we leave that Registry Office tomorrow afternoon as man and wife, we are coming straight back here and neither or us is leaving this bedroom for a very long time."

Tom quirks an eyebrow at her, both fascinated and slightly terrified by this insatiable vixen he's unleashed. "Is that so?" he asks. "And tell me, milady, what exactly is it that you have in mind?"

"It's a surprise," she replies, reaching for the doorknob and blowing him a fond kiss goodnight as she retreats back to her own room.

Tom flops down on the bed with a groan, pushing down his trousers and underwear, and as he takes matters quite literally into his own hands, he can't help but think that this woman will be the death of him.

**_-xxx-_**

She stuffs the magazine under her pillow as she hears the door to her bedroom open, not entirely sure how she should react to see Tom slipping round it.

"What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," he admits. "I was thinking about what we said... about not seeing each other before the wedding because it would be bad luck. I'm already living on borrowed time, Sybil, and I'm not going to waste a single second of it..."

Sybil shifts over in bed and pulls the duvet back to give him room to crawl in beside her, hitching up her nightgown slightly so as to be able to twine her legs with his.

"I can't wait for the days when we get to do this without having to worry about being caught," she says, snuggling impossibly close to him.

"And the days where I'll never have to leave you," he replies, twisting a lock of hair around his finger. "What were you reading when I came in?"

"Nothing," she says with a slight blush, squealing as he rolls over her and playfully pins her arms to the mattress.

"What were you reading?"

She gazes up at him, feigning offence. "Controlling my reading material now, are we?"

Tom chuckles. "Actually, I'm quite interested to know what has my beautiful bride-to-be blushing so prettily. You said you wanted this to be a marriage of equals so, come on, share."

Biting her bottom lip, she reaches under her pillow and pulls out the magazine. Tom's eyes widen as he recognises the title - it's one he's heard of but has never actually seen - and he can't help but wonder where the hell she managed to find it. "Let's just say that my Uncle Marmaduke had a rather plentiful stack of... **colourful** reading materials hidden away in the library. I... I came across it one afternoon and, well it gave me one or two ideas... I'm a little embarrassed to admit it."

He leans in and kisses her forehead. "Don't be," he smiles. "If anything, be proud of it... I certainly won't complain."

Sybil laughs. "Those Victorians weren't all as reserved as we believe them to be, you know."I don't understand why sex is such a taboo."

"But don't you think it makes it all that more exciting?"

"A taste of the forbidden fruit?"

"Like Adam and Eve."

She looks up at him with a quizzical look on her face. "But weren't Adam and Eve naked?"

"You have a point there."

She giggles again and manages to roll out from underneath him, rummaging around in the drawer of her bedside cabinet for something. "I... I got these from the hospital," she says, that blush returning to her cheeks again. "We've been giving them to the soldiers to stop diseases. One of our senior nurses is from America and she brought the idea over here with her." She meets his eyes for a second, glad to see that he isn't laughing at her or repulsed by what she's telling him, but rather that he seems to understand, and she's thankful that they're able to discuss matters such as this. "I'm not trying to say that you have... anything but... it's just that... I love you, Tom, and I want to have an entire brood of children someday, but I can't think about it until this damn war is over with and you come home safely. We were playing with fire last time and it almost seems like we're tempting fate, I..."

He cuts her off with a tender kiss. "Love, I understand," he says. "I completely agree... in fact, I was going to suggest something similar."

"So you'll try this with me then?"

"Of course I will."

"Good," she smiles and then completely takes him by surprise by straddling his thighs. "Then in that case, there's something else I want us to try?"

"Something from this magazine of yours?"  
She nods in affirmation and leans down to whisper in his ear rather seductively. "Tell me, Mr Branson, what do you know of the term riding St George?"

He knows exactly what it is, but he adores her enough to feign innocence and let her have her wicked way with him...

Oh yes, she will most certainly be the death of him.

However, what neither of them could have banked on was the fact that someone was privy to every word of their earlier conversation. Someone knows of their plans for their clandestine nuptials - question is, what will they choose to do with that information now that they have it?

**_-xxx-_**

Lady Mary Crawley looks out of the window of her bedroom in the smart Belgravia townhouse owned by her aunt. She adores coming here, finding it to be much more homely than the nearby Grantham House which is only ever opened up during the season. Having missed their darling little sister's birthday, she and Edith had decided to pay her a surprise visit down in London with an idea to take her out to tea at the Dorchester and then perhaps to the ballet. Of course, they'd have to prise her away from the hospital long enough to actually be able to spend some time with her.

"Edna, is my sister working this afternoon?"

The maid freezes as she unpacks Mary's cases, suddenly feeling conflicted as to how to answer. "No, milady" she says at last - she can't keep this a secret, she'd lose her job if she did and God knows that good positions such as this are hard to come by in the capital these days. "Lady Sybil is out with a gentleman."

Mary arches and immaculately shaped eyebrow. "A gentleman?" she asks, slightly delighted that her sister seems to have found herself a beau at last - it's about time, after all.

"Yes, milady. A gentleman who has been staying here."

Mary's face drops - she couldn't possibly mean Matthew, surely she would have been in touch to say that Matthew was back in the country?

"Edna, tell me everything."


	10. A Marriage Interrupted

**_I'm amazed how quickly I managed to write this chapter! We're fast approaching what is probably the end of 'Act One' so to speak and then we can get to the real drama. Enjoy and please let me know what you think, I'm doubting that people are still with me on this and whether I should carry on :) x_**

* * *

"_The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame_."  
**_Robbie Turner - Atonement  
_**  
He takes her hand in his, the Claddagh ring he'd given her at Christmas removed from her right hand and now positioned at the first knuckle of her fourth finger on the left. He can't believe that after all this time and everything they've been through that they're finally here, standing on the precipice of matrimony as they say their vows at last.

"I call upon these persons present to witness that I, Tom Éoghan Branson, do take thee, Sybil Per..."

"Stop!" A familiar voice calls out from the back of the room, the no longer happy couple turning to see none other than Lady Mary Crawley walking hastily towards them with all the wrath of an oncoming storm, Edith following close behind looking more nervous than angry.

"I'll give you a moment," says the Registrar before stepping out of the room to give the party some privacy.

"How did you find us?" asks a somewhat flustered Tom. "How did you know?"

"Never mind that," Mary snaps. "At least nothing's happened, thank God."

"What do you mean nothing's happened?" replies Sybil angrily. "I've decided to marry Tom and you coming here won't change that."

"And in case you hadn't noticed, we were in the middle of that very marriage," Tom interrupts, drawing himself up to his full height as he meets Mary's eyes - eyes that are filled with nothing but disdain for the man who has stolen her baby sister's innocence.

"This isn't the way," Edith adds calmly, trying to diffuse some of the tension.

"She's right of course," says Mary in a rare act of allegiance with her sister. "Mama and Papa would hate it..."

"Why should they?" asks Tom, quickly glancing down as he feels Sybil's reassuring hand upon his wrist as she encourages him to rein in his temper a little before he says or does something that he'll regret.

"Oh, pipe down!" replies Mary dismissively. "Sybil, can't you let them get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow them time. That way you won't have to break up the family."

"They would never give permission."

"You'll be twenty-one next year," Mary points out. "Just wait until then and you won't need their permission. Things might be different then, the war might be over..."

"Might!" Sybil yells. "There's the problem and the very reason why we're doing this now. Things **might** be different, as you say, and the war **might** be over but..."

"But I might also be dead by then," Tom interrupts for a third time.

"So you'd leave my sister a destitute and broken hearted widow?"  
"She wouldn't be destitute. My family in Ireland would take care of her, we've already discussed this."

Mary rolls her eyes. "Ireland?" she scoffs. "I may not be as interested in politics as you, Sybil, but I listen to the things people are saying and I've heard enough to know that Ireland is just as big a warzone as the one on the other side of the channel!"  
"You know nothing of the war on the continent, **milady**," spits Tom bitterly, her words triggering the memories of battle that he somehow manages to keep locked away whenever he's with Sybil.

"Oh, don't I?" she replies, everyone else suddenly forgotten about as the pair continue their verbal sparring match. "So my cousin's letters describing the horrors and the hardships and the grief mean nothing, do they?"

"You've been writing to Matthew?" asks Sybil. She adores her cousin dearly and it's been so long since she last heard from him that she was beginning to wonder if he was alright.

Mary shakes her head. "Not now, Sybil," she says before turning her attention back to her future brother-in-law. "So you see, Mr Branson, I do know something about all of this and, for that reason, I'm telling you that it would be best to wait. It will be all the more worthwhile and while it may usually be easier to seek forgiveness than permission, this is one of those rare situations where it isn't. Don't start your lives together under a black shadow, especially not with everything else you'll have to deal with."

"Don't listen," says Tom to a doubtful looking Sybil, who seems to have been won over by her sister's much softer words. "She's pretending to be reasonable to get you to go home again."

"Even if I am, even if I think that this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight than to sneak off like a thief in the night."

Tom sighs and takes hold of Sybil's hand and, as she looks up at him, he knows that Mary has won her over. "Go back with them, then. If you think they can make you happier than I will."

Sybil shakes her head. "Am I so weak you believe I could be talked out of giving my heart in five minutes flat?" she asks with a slight smile and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "But Mary's right. I don't like deceit and our parents don't deserve it. So, I'll go back with them..." he goes to interrupt once more but she silences him by pressing a finger to his lips. "Believe it or not, I will stay true to you and on the day this blasted war ends and you come home to me again, we will be married... in a church and with our families there to wish us well, just like we've always dreamed of. I love you so much, Tom Branson, and given the chance I'd shout it from the rooftops for the whole world to hear." She leans in and brushes her lips against his in a chaste kiss, one that should have sealed her wedding vows by now, before Edith beckons her to leave, wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders as she takes one last look at her heartbroken fiancé.

"I'll return to Lady Rosamund's to collect my belongings in the morning," he says to Mary, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from those of his tearful bride. "Sybil has a shift at the hospital so you don't have to worry about leaving us alone. You're fairly certain that you can bring her 'round, aren't you? That you can talk her out of marrying me altogether."

"Fairly," she replies confidently. "I'll certainly try. I know exactly who you are, Branson, and I haven't forgotten what happened in Ireland. Sybil told me everything... or at least she used to. I had to find out about this from a housemaid of all people."

"A housemaid?" asks Tom, puzzled as to how anyone could possibly have been aware of their plans. "Who? Which one?"

"Do you want some money? For a room somewhere?"

"No thank you, milady," he replies, slightly offended by the fact that she sees him as some sort of charity case. "I can pay my own way."

And, with that, Lady Mary Crawley follows her sisters out onto the bustling streets of London, leaving Lance Corporal Tom Branson feeling more alone than he's ever felt before.

-xxx-

Mary paces up and down her bedroom having finally calmed Sybil down enough to be able to have a proper conversation with her.

"I'm just trying to get it straight in my head. You and the Irish chauffeur."

"He's not a chauffeur anymore," Sybil corrects from her position perched at the end of Mary's bed, her fingers toying with the mahogany post somewhat therapeutically. "He's a... oh, what does it matter? You know I don't care for any of that."

"Oh, darling, darling, don't be such a baby," her sister chastises. "This isn't fairyland. What did you think? You'd marry a chauffeur and we'd all come to tea?"

Sybil sighs. "What do you want from me?" she snaps. "Am I to see if your Sir Richard Carlisle has a younger brother? One who's even richer than he is?"

"Darling, what's the matter with you? I'm on your side."

"Then be on my side!" she retorts. "Because it most certainly didn't seem like it today. Do you have any idea how that felt? To be so close to marrying the person you love more than anyone in this world only for something to destroy all chance of happiness at the last possible moment?"

"I..." for once in her life, Mary Crawley is lost for words. The answer is, of course, yes - she knows exactly how it feels. Her own stupidity at not confessing her sins to Matthew when he'd proposed to her all those years ago and letting him believe that it had everything to do with his possible change in fortune had ruined everything. Quite often she would lie awake at night and wonder what her life would be like if they had married - perhaps they'd have a child already and another on the way and they may have even moved to Manchester and to a beautiful townhouse that would be theirs and theirs alone. From a very early age though, Mary had learnt that life isn't a fairytale, there are no handsome princes, damsels in distress or fairy godmothers who can put everything right with a wave of their magic wand - you have to be the heroine of your own story, and Mary had certainly messed up hers somewhere along the way and she'll do whatever it takes to stop the same happening to her baby sister.

"Well?" asks Sybil defiantly. "Do you? I'll answer for you, shall I? No you don't, because you have never even been in love!"

It's the final blow that makes Mary snap. "You know absolutely nothing of my life anymore, Sybil!"

"Then tell me, please!" she begs. "We used to tell each other everything when we were little."

"But we're not girls anymore, are we?" she sighs. "War has made us women and as women we must learn to accept that the world has never intended for us to have everything we want."

"I don't give a fig about what the world intends," Sybil pouts. "I know exactly what I want and I'll stop at nothing until I have it. Why should the fact that I'm a woman have anything to do with it?"

Mary chuckles. "That sounds more like you," she says, sitting down next to her sister on the bed and tucking a stray curl back behind her ear. "You're different to the person you were when you left Downton. You seem comfortable in your own skin at last now that you have some sort of purpose."

"You could have a purpose too, you know," replies Sybil with a smile.

Mary quirks an eyebrow. "Who says I don't already," she says. "I don't know if anybody has told you, but plans to turn Downton into a convalescent home are all but finalised. Come home, Sybil, there will be plenty of soldiers in need of nursing both there and at the village hospital."

"While I'm rather impressed by that, I can't leave London just yet," she says. "Maybe someday soon but, right now, my place is here. I love you all dearly and miss you so much, but this is my life now... well, at least for the near future."

"He wrote to you," says Mary, staring into the flames burning in the fireplace. "Every week for a year."

Sybil stares back at her sister, completely stunned. "Tom did? But... how do you know?"

Mary swallows hard, knowing that she's taking a huge risk in making this confession. "Because I intercepted your letters... I didn't read them, I just kept them hidden away."

"How could you do that?"

"Because I was trying to protect you."

"I'm not a child anymore, Mary!" snaps Sybil. "I can protect myself."

"Sybil... Sybil, wait!" she calls as her sister storms off down the corridor towards Edith's room, banging on the door with her fist.

"Did you know?" she asks Edith tearfully. "About my letters from Tom?"

"You'd better come in," her sister sighs and, noticing her nightgown, Sybil feels slightly guilty for disturbing her just as she's ready for bed. She needs answers though, and now is as good a time as any. "I did know, yes," she admits once the door is closed firmly behind them. "Or at least I had my suspicions. Though you should know that Mary and I weren't exactly on the best of terms back then. I was barely speaking to her as it was..."

"If you had known for certain though, what would you have done about it?"

There's a moment's silence as Edith contemplates her response. "I would have told you... they were your letters and your business. It was up to you what you would have done with them and I have every faith that you would have come to either of us if there was something you needed to talk about."

Sybil brushes away her tears and smiles weakly at her sister. "You're much nicer than you were before the war, you know.

"Perhaps," replies Edith. "Listen, are you due a break from your shift at the hospital tomorrow?"

"Yes," Sybil nods. "At two o'clock for an hour."

"Then when Tom comes to collect his things tomorrow, I'll tell him to meet you in that little tea shop around the corner from the hospital, the one we went to the last time we came to visit. I think the two of you need some time alone to talk."

"Oh, Edith," she says, throwing her arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

"It's the least I can do," she replies. "Though surely you know that Mary and I were right in doing what we did today?"

Sybil sighs. "I'm sure that one day I will though, for now, my heart hurts too much for me to even begin to think about it."

**_-xxx-_**

He sees her across the room, sitting there like a true picture of nobility. No, she's more than that - she is an angel, an angel carved by the hands of Bernini himself. He falters - he can't do this, he can't face her after what happened yesterday and nor can he bring himself to say yet another goodbye. She turns and looks at him then, her deep blue eyes filled with so much love and a silent plea for forgiveness. That's the moment he knows that he can't just leave with things the way that they are. He has to do this - **they **have to do this - and put things right before he goes back to France.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologises. "I got lost."

"Hello," replies Sybil and the pair of them say nothing more as they stare longingly into each other's eyes - so much needs to be said, but neither knows quite where to start.

"Shall we have some tea?" she asks, seeing it as the first logical step.

"Yes," agrees Tom, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward as he pulls off his cap and sits down in the chair beside hers. "You know, I don't recall ever telling you how I take my tea," he says with a nervous laugh, watching as she adds milk and two sugars into his cup.

"I studied you when we were in Ireland," replies Sybil with a smirk, breaking the ice at long last. "I've always had a tendency to remember the little things about a person." Tentatively, she reaches out and places her hand on top of his as he stirs his tea in a gesture that speaks so much more than any words ever could but is stunned as he pulls away.

"I have to go back to the hospital in half an hour," she admits, noticing that his gaze is somewhat absent and his mind clearly somewhere far away. "We've been rather busy today."

"Oh," he replies with a hint of sadness as he snaps back into the present. "I would have thought we'd have longer."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It isn't your fault that you're needed."

"I didn't mean about that," she says. "Well, I am, but what I really meant was that I'm sorry about yesterday. Arguing with my sisters isn't exactly how I envisioned my wedding night."

Tom chuckles at this but sincerity soon takes over him again. "Do you think that you would have ended up regretting it?"

"No," she replies. "Though they were right about one thing. We shouldn't have to hide anymore. It doesn't matter who we are or where we come from, that I'm an Earl's daughter and you've spent more than half your life in service. We love each other and I want the world to know it. The next time you're home, we'll start planning something... a proper wedding. Nothing too extravagant, obviously, but a proper wedding nonetheless."

Tom reaches out across the table and takes her hand in his. "I'd like that very much."

Sybil smiles back at him and it feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. "When do you leave?" she asks.

"This afternoon," he tells her. "I'm not due back for another few days but I thought that, with Lady Mary after my head on a silver platter, it was best that I left early."

"Would you have gone without saying goodbye?"

Tom shakes his head. "No, I'm never going to make that mistake again."

"I know about the letters. It turned out that Mary had kept them from me... I'm so sorry I ever doubted your affections for me, or that you thought I saw you as nothing more than a summer fancy, as so many women I grew up around like to indulge in with their staff."

"I've never once thought that about you The things we said and did together that summer were something special, Sybil, I'll cherish those memories forever."

"You sound as though we're never going to see each other again."

Tom stares down into the milky depths of his tea and sighs. "Who knows what tomorrow will bring, my love."

**_-xxx-_**

They walk arm in arm back towards the Underground station that will take him to St Pancras and the train to the coast. She clings desperately to him, neither quite yet ready to say goodbye again.

"There's a cottage on the beach back in Ireland," he says rather unexpectedly. "It was my aunt and uncles but they had no children so it passed to Niall. With him working all the time in Dublin, they don't get down there much. He's said that it's ours for as long as we want it when the war is over. Say you'll come with me."

"Back to Ireland?"

"Back to Ireland," he repeats. "Though away from the city, away from the fighting because I don't think I could take another day of this. Just the two of us out there in the countryside, like it was when we first met. We can watch our children play in the waves and make love under the stars... please, say you'll come."

She kisses him fiercely and, for once, nobody bats an eyelid at such a public display - who are they to deny a soldier and his girl one last kiss before he returns to the Front?

"Of course I will," she says. "I've probably told you this before, but you are more of a man, more of a gentleman, than anyone I have ever met. I meant exactly what I said yesterday. I **will** stay true to you and we **will** be married someday."

"I love you, Sybil Crawley," he says, resting his forehead upon hers and cupping her face in his hands. "I will love you until the last breath leaves my body."

They were words that tempted fate and Tom Branson was a man whose nine lives were beginning to run out...

After all, who knows what tomorrow will bring?


	11. Do You Hear the People Sing?

**_Two chapters in as many days - I am rather awesome, aren't I? No, in all seriousness, this one is VERY important and sets up the plot for the rest of the fic. There are a lot of minor details in here which will become important later, especially the interaction between Tom and Thomas (who, for the sake of this story is just in the normal army and not the medical corps). I'm not very good at writing battle sequences but I gave it a go. PLEASE let me know what you think - this is what the previous chapters have all been building up to (but, as you'll probably guess, not everything is quite as it seems). Oh and, before I forget, the song the soldiers sing is a Welsh hymn called '__Calon Lân' - you can find English translations on Google! _****_Enjoy :) x_**

* * *

"_The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France_."  
**_Do You Hear the People Sing? – Les Misérables_**

**_January 1918_**

It's been almost a year since their failed wedding attempt and just over three months since he last saw Sybil - the fighting seems worse than ever and he hasn't been granted enough leave to make the trip to London and back. They still write to one another, but it's becoming harder for them to remain positive and to keep looking for a new dawn on the horizon.

"And then there were three," says Jimmy, sinking down to the ground beside his cousin and handing him a cigarette. "You, me and Barrow."

"May as well just be the two of us," replies Tom, accepting a light from Jimmy. "We all know that he cares for nobody but himself."

Jimmy nods in agreement. "He hates your guts, you know," he tells him. "You're goin' with a 'crat and one of his lot to boot."

"So he does show some loyalty after all?"

"Quite fond of your Lady Sybil, by the sounds of it. He says that she's one of the few people who's ever been kind to him and that he'll have your cock on a silver platter if you've so much as laid a finger on her."

Tom can't help but laugh. "Well Lady Mary's after my head on one too. They should speak to one another about forming a vigilante group."

"This isn't funny, Tommy," his cousin retorts. "You're playing a dangerous game, I told you as much when you started this in Ireland."

"Things are different now though," says Tom. "We're engaged."

Jimmy sighs. "You always were a romantic fool, Tommy," he half laughs. "It's the country boy in you. Though are you really sure that this is for the best? Are you really doing yourselves any favours by keeping her chained to you while all this is going on?"

"I love her... I'd wait forever for her and I know that she'll do the same for me."  
"I hope you're right," replies Jimmy. "For both your sakes."

Tom sighs and leans back against the wall of the trench - watching as the enemy shellfire lights up the night sky in a way that's somehow morbidly beautiful. He's heard whispers that they'll be going over the top again tomorrow and his chances of coming back alive this time are slim. As always, he pulls out a sheet of paper and a pencil and begins to write. He always writes to her the night before they go over, asking for her to remember him in her prayers ("_You're a good lass_," he'd once joked. "_I'm sure the Almighty owes you a favour by now_.") and that he'll let her know that he's safe. This time, however, the letter is different. This time there is something he needs to do...

It's the last request of a man condemned to death.

**_-xxx-_**

**_Dublin, the following morning_**

Aileen Branson potters around the kitchen just as she does every morning - it's just her and Órlaith today but Niall said he'd be round just after lunch to talk about his daughter's first holy communion this Sunday. There's much to be done today, what with Freddie arriving from Canada the day after tomorrow, and the house needs to be cleaned from top to bottom as well as the alterations she needs to do on little Caoimhe's dress. Oh how she wishes all her boys could be here to lend a helping hand and to celebrate with them this weekend. Éamon will be there with Maeve and their little ones, but Kieran and Tommy won't.

A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks of Tom and, for a moment, she finds it difficult to breathe.

"Mam?" Órlaith asks. "Mam are you alright?"

She shakes it off as she lifts the kettle from the stove and sets about making tea. "I'm fine, love," she lies with a convincing enough smile.

In truth, it felt as though somebody had just walked over her grave.

**_-xxx-_**

He kneels before the Padre, Jimmy at his side and his rosary clutched between his fingers as they whisper their final prayers and pleas for the Lord to be merciful as they face their impending doom. It's a tradition that he takes comfort in, not because he's a particularly religious man, but because some of his earliest memories are of his entire family sitting in the local church at midnight mass on Christmas eve. It's his own tradition before going over the top and all the men have their own - some, like him, pray to a God they may or may not believe in, some strap on their kit in a certain order and others write a last letter to home. One of the ones that touches Tom the most, however, is that of some of the Welsh boys who sing songs of their homeland in the tongue of their forefathers. Sometimes it's a rousing chorus of 'Cwm Rhondda' or 'Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau' but today's choice is Tom's personal favourite, or at least it had become his favourite once one of the lads had told him what the lyrics translated to.

_Nid wy'n gofyn bywyd moethus,_

_Aur y byd na'i berlau mân:_

_Gofyn wyf am galon hapus,_

_Calon onest, calon lân._

Their voices ring out loud and clear above the chaos as the officers push their men closer to the walls of the trench, some of them half way up ladders as they prepare themselves for the charge. It would be so easy for a man to lose his nerve in these moments - they're still coming under fire and the tension is almost too much to bear. That's why the songs seem to help - they're a reminder that there are some things left in this world that are still pure and beautiful and those things are worth fighting for.

_Calon lân yn llawn daioni,_

_Tecach yw na'r lili dlos:_

_Dim ond calon lân all ganu_

_Canu'r dydd a chanu'r nos._

He places a hand over his heart - a lock of Sybil's hair wrapped in one of her handkerchiefs kept hidden away in his breast pocket a constant reminder that she and their future together is what he fights for.

"Stick by the gentry," he says to Jimmy, watching as a blue eyed Captain reassures and encourages his men. "They're our ticket. We've got the pot but they've got the luck."

"Tommy, if I don't make it..."  
"Shush!" Tom interrupts. "Don't think like that. You can't think like that. It's always been you and me, sticking together since we were wee boys getting up to no good on the streets of Dublin. We'll go back there one day, I promise you. We're Branson boys; we're made of strong stuff."

Jimmy smiles and quickly embraces his cousin. "Ireland," he says. "I'm doing this for Ireland so that I can go home... it's like those Welsh lads are saying, I don't want glory and riches, I just want to be happy again and that's exactly what you're going to be with your Lady Sybil. She's made you a better man, Tommy, and I'm sorry I ever doubted you..."  
"Be my best man at my wedding,"

"Aye... I'll do it," he says, fixing his bayonet as the command is given.

The Welsh stop their song...

The whistle is blown...

The end is coming.

**_-xxx-_**

**_London, around the same time_**

It's been an incredibly long night and Sybil can't remember the last time she felt this exhausted - she's convinced she must be coming down with something as she's been feeling ill for several days, is off her food and the whole thing is making her feel as though all she wants to do is curl up in a ball and cry herself to sleep for a month. She'd even started sobbing yesterday as she'd said goodbye to a young lad from Devon who had been in her charge since he arrived at the hospital several weeks ago. Thankfully, her shift is almost over and her final task of the morning is to replace a couple of jugs of water on the wards - nothing too taxing, just exactly what she needs. Inexplicably, she stops dead in her tracks, her grip slipping on the pitcher and sending it tumbling to the floor, shattering at her feet and spilling water everywhere.

"Sybil?" asks Kitty who is standing nearby, placing a hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "What happened?"

Sybil shakes her head. "I... I'm not sure," she says. "I suddenly felt terribly cold."

"Go on," Kitty says. "You go home and I'll sort this out. I'll tell Sister Meredith that you suddenly fell ill."

"Thank you," she replies with a smile, so grateful to have someone like Kitty that she can call a friend.

"Sybil, are you sure you're alright? You've not been yourself lately."

"No," replies Sybil. "No I haven't really, have I?"

**_-xxx-_**

It's so much worse than he can ever remember it being. Fritz are throwing absolutely everything they've got at them and they're desperately trying to chuck it straight back. Men are dropping like flies around him but he keeps on going, wading through the mud with his eyes fixed firmly ahead - coming under heavy fire makes this hard enough as it is but the addition of near gale force winds and torrential rain are making it damn near impossible to see more than a few feet in front of him. To his left, he sees Barrow take a bullet to the hand and he knows that he can't leave him. Pulling the Englishman up by his coat, he drags him as best he can across the field to relative safety.

"Stay there," he says. "Stay until they find you."

Thomas looks up at Tom, utterly confused as to why a man whom he has given nothing but cause to hate him for the things he's said would just do what he's just done. "But..."

"Just... don't move. You'll be fine," says Tom. "This isn't the last time we'll see each other... I want a word with you and you're not going to bloody well die on me before I've had it!"

Before Thomas even has a chance to respond, he's off again and running towards the enemy trenches. Pulling a grenade out of his pocket, he launches it at a cluster of German soldiers firing at them to his left. Feeling slightly disorientated and with a harsh ringing in his ears as a result of the explosion, he reaches for his rifle and sprints the last few feet as best he can, tripping over something and landing in the bottom of the trench with a thud.

It takes him a moment to recover and, when he does, he jumps in fright to see a German right in front of him, looking incredibly sinister in a gas mask and greatcoat. When the soldier doesn't move, Tom nudges him with the tip of his bayonet and he slumps down to the floor. He's dead. They're all dead. This isn't a trench... it's a tomb.

He moves slowly forward, being careful not to make any noise lest some of them are actually still alive and manage to find him. Hearing footsteps approaching him from behind, he spins round and raises his rifle, ready to shoot his assailant.

"DON'T!"

"Jimmy!" he says with relief and falls into the older man's arms once more. "We made it... we made it."

"You were right, Tommy," Jimmy smiles. "We got through it. We stuck together and we're still here."

Tom nods as he tries to catch his breath. "I don't know about you," he says, still on a bit of a high from the adrenaline that rushes through his veins. "But I need a bloody big drink."

Jimmy laughs and wraps an arm around Tom's shoulder. "Come on, there's bound to be something lying around here."

Tom stops dead in his tracks, watching as Jimmy walks ahead slightly. Something doesn't feel quite right and his suspicions are all but confirmed as one of the Welsh sergeants he'd heard singing earlier runs towards him frantically.

"GAS, GAS, GAS!"

Everything seems to happen in slow motion then - he turns his head and sees the ominous cloud heading towards them, Jimmy's laughter failing as he meets his eyes and realises what is happening...

The end has come at last.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil stifles a yawn as she sits down at the breakfast table, deciding to see if her stomach can take just a little bit of toast and some tea. She's feeling ever so slightly better now, but she can't shake the niggling feeling that there's something wrong.

"A letter for you, my lady," says the butler, offering the small envelope to her on a silver tray.

"Thank you, Watkins," she smiles, taking it from him and using her knife to rip open the envelope.

No.

No, this isn't happening.

"Sybil, dear," Rosamund asks. "Is everything alright?"

She looks up at her aunt tearfully before getting to her feet. "Do excuse me, will you," she says, maintaining her ladylike composure for as long as she needs to. Practically running upstairs, she locks herself away in her bedroom and throws herself down on the floor, reading the note again and again as she tries to process what she's reading.

It's exactly what she feared yet it never seemed as bad as this in her nightmares.

She doesn't read the whole thing. She doesn't need to - the first line is enough.

_It is my painful duty to inform you that a report has this day been received from the War Office notifying of the death of Lance Corporal T. E. Branson..._


	12. The Darkest Hour

**_I'm so sorry that it's taken so long for me to update this! Things have been hectic and I've had a bit of a crappy week so I can only apologise. This chapter was so hard to write for reasons that I think will become obvious - I hate what I'm putting these characters through, but I really need them to reach the lowest of the low before they can build themselves up again. I'm trying to show that, in moving to London, Sybil almost isolated herself from the rest of the family and these next few chapters are really all about her re-establishing the bonds she had with them, especially Cora but I'll deal with that next. Anyway, on with the show and let me know what you think :) x _**

* * *

__"_It's always darkest before the dawn."_

**_Shake it Out - Florence and the Machine_**

Just when she thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, one of the doctors at the hospital confirms what she's suspected for several days now...

She's pregnant.

She's cried herself to sleep every night since she received the letter informing her of Tom's death, locking herself in her room and barely eating anything. She'd almost fainted in the middle of her shift and, upon the insistence of the ward sister, she'd been given the once over and delivered the second piece of life changing news that she's had in as many weeks.

"It's alright," says Kitty quietly as the two of them find themselves in the stock cupboard one afternoon sorting through the latest delivery of supplies. "I know."

"Know what?" Sybil asks innocently, though she doubts Kitty is fooled by the look on her face for a single second.

"Sybil, I've got three sisters and all of them have children of their own..."

"I'm scared, Kitty," she admits, feeling the tears sting her eyes. "I don't know what I'm going to do... what choice do I have?"

"Legal or illegal?"  
"Kitty!" Sybil hisses, her haywire emotions bringing out an aggressive streak she hadn't even known herself capable of until now. "You know that I couldn't ever do something like that!"

Kitty sighs. "I know... I'm sorry I even suggested it," she apologises. "But what about Tom's family? He did say that if the worst were to happen then they'd look after you."

"You think that I should go to Ireland?"

"I'm saying that it's an option," she says, wrapping an arm around the younger girl's shoulder and offering her a handkerchief. "But, if that doesn't work, I'm sure that there will always be a place for you with me."

Sybil stares back at Kitty, utterly stunned by this level of generosity. "I couldn't possibly impose on you like that. Your mother..."

"Gave birth to my eldest brother three months before she married my father," Kitty smirks. "She wouldn't judge you, just as Tom's family won't."

"My own family will," she sniffs. "They'll probably disown me for this."

"And if they do then you won't be alone. There are plenty of people who love you no matter what, I'm just one of them. Go up to Yorkshire for a few days, the country air might do you some good and give you space to think."

Sybil nods. "I think you're right," she says. "I'll ask about having some time off, I haven't had any in a long time. Oh and, Kitty, thank you so much for everything, you've been a saint these past few years."

"My pleasure, darling," smiles Kitty. "Now go... and write to me as soon as you get there."

Decision made, it's time to return to Downton.

-xxx-

Her parents are, naturally, thrilled to have her back home - even Robert with whom her relationship had still been somewhat frosty prior to her departure for London - but she's assured them that she will not be giving up on her work. She knows that she still has time before she begins to show - it won't be long, but it's time enough to get herself sorted out and make some plans. After much persuasion (and a little help from Cousin Isobel) she's finally managed to get Doctor Clarkson to allow her to help in the convalescent home and work the odd shift down at the village hospital. Away from the city, it's almost enough to help her forget - at least for a while anyway.

She's lying in the bath after a particularly gruelling afternoon - the hot water soothes her aching muscles and the intoxicating scent of lavender makes her feel relaxed and lulls her into a haze of tranquillity. Her hand ghosts over her abdomen beneath the water, her fingers delicately caressing the skin underneath which her baby grows. It's easy to say when it happened - Tom had surprised her by sending her a telegram from Dover telling her that he'd be able to come up to London for the night. She'd lied to her aunt and said that she had a night shift at the hospital and Kitty and the girls had agreed to cover for her there if anyone where to enquire about her whereabouts. Instead, she'd spent the evening in a ramshackle hotel room close to the east end of the city, sitting on the floor on top of a blanket like she hadn't done since she was a child and eating fish and chips off the newspaper they'd come wrapped in all washed down with a couple of bottles of beer. They'd made love twice? Three times? Four? She can't quite remember how many times it was but each one of them had been so incredibly perfect. They'd woken in the early hours of the morning and done it again - slowly, tenderly and still in a haze of sleep. That was when they'd made their baby - she's certain of it. They'd been careful during the times before that, what with the 'provisions' that he'd brought with him from France, but they'd been too lost in the moment to care that time and now she was paying the price for it. Sybil laughs tearfully as she thinks of how differently things could have been - Tom might still be alive and he'd no doubt be overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father, even if this wasn't the way things were done. He would have married her, regardless of what anyone said and nobody could stop them - in fact, they would probably be encouraged. She knows that she's in trouble and that if her plans don't work out then she truly is heading towards destitution - aristocrat or not, she's a ruined woman in the eyes of society.

This has to work.

First thing tomorrow, she'll write to Aileen - problem is, she hasn't got a clue what to say.

**_-xxx-_**

Something isn't right - a dark cloud hangs over Downton, bringing with it a general sense of unease among its inhabitants. It's not until just before dinner one evening when Sybil receives a visit from Edith that she finally discovers just what's going on.

"Matthew's missing," her sister tells her as she perches herself on the edge of the bed. "He went out on a patrol or something and never came back."

"How awful," replies Sybil as she puts in her earrings. "Though we mustn't give up hope, not yet. He might still turn up."

"That's what Papa said," says Edith. "Though I envy your optimism... you always did have a way of seeing the bright side of things."

Sybil forces a smile, wishing that she could share her secret with her sister but she knows that, just for now, she has to keep it to herself until her plans are set in stone. "One has to in times of war. Without hope, we have nothing."

"You've become very wise," Edith half laughs. "Papa hasn't told anybody yet, I only know because I was there when he was speaking to somebody on the telephone. Do you remember the footman, William? Well Daisy was asking about him because he and Matthew were supposed to come back here together."

"Is he her beau?"

"I'm not sure," replies Edith. "Though I think he might be, yes. Anyway, I told her that I'd find out what I could for her."

"You're far nicer than you were before the war you know," replies Sybil with a much more genuine smile. "The old you would probably never have done something like that."

"I suppose not. Though the problem is, what do we do about Mary?"

"She doesn't know either?"

"No. Should I tell her? What would you do?" she asks. "Or rather, would you want me to tell you, if it were Tom that had gone missing?"

Sybil drops the glass stopper of her perfume bottle, freezing as Edith's words hit her like a punch to the gut. "Tom's dead," she whispers, her gaze dropping down to her lap as she fights back her tears.

Edith's jaw drops and she moves across the room to kneel beside her little sister, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry," she says. "I don't know."

"No, you couldn't have done," Sybil sniffs. "I received a letter a couple of weeks ago. He was killed in action, or so it said. He..." she stops mid sentence as an overwhelming feeling of nausea takes hold of her. It's Edith's perfume, it has to be - just one of the many unwanted side effects of her pregnancy is that scents that she used to adore now have the potential to turn her stomach.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she lies, cupping a hand over her mouth. "It's just... I... I've been feeling unwell these past few days. Must be something I picked up at the hospital."

"Are you sure you still want to come down to dinner?" Edith asks, placing a hand on Sybil's shoulder. "You could stay up here and have a tray if you're not feeling up to it."

"It's nothing, honestly. I'll be fine," she replies. "If I feel any worse, I'll just excuse myself and come up to bed early. I doubt that anyone would mind."

"Mmm, well just as long as you're feeling better for tomorrow night. We're putting on a concert for the men. You should sing with Mary and I, we used to do it all the time when we were little."

Sybil laughs. "Yes, I remember," she says. "I'll be on duty though, but I'll still be there."

"Well that's something I suppose. We could all use our spirits lifting a little at a time like this."

"Yes," Sybil nods. "I quite agree."

**_-xxx-_**

She had been right not to give up hope on Matthew and William returning home safely. Much to everyone's relief, they had turned up during a particularly rousing rendition of "If You Were the Only Girl in the World" and she'd had to smile at the sight of her eldest sister standing there by Matthew's side - oh how right they looked together, if only they could see how deeply they still cared for one another. It makes her heart ache as she wishes Tom could have followed behind William and her cousin, he's own voice loud and clear in song and he'd pull her into his arms and kiss her in front of everyone, displaying his love for her for the whole world to see. She feels it again - that punch to her gut that she'd felt when she'd been speaking to Edith in her bedroom last night. This time though, it seems much more literal and causes her actual physical pain - a different sort of pain, much more like an extremely severe cramp...

No.

No it can't be.

She clutches her stomach through her uniform, trying her best to be discreet as her face contorts in agony. She prays that she's wrong but, deep in her heart, she knows exactly what's happening. Bad luck, they say, comes in threes and she'd been wondering when her third dose would come - not even in her darkest nightmares could she ever have envisaged that it would be this.

The family are so wrapped up in the return of the prodigal son that nobody pays her the slightest bit of attention as she slips away from the crowd and retreats to her bedroom, locking the door behind her before crying out in grief, despair and sheer agony as she feels the only part of Tom she has left cruelly slipping away from her...

**_-xxx-_**

It's Mary who notices Sybil's absence and, recalling that Edith had mentioned she'd been feeling unwell, her sisterly instinct had taken over her and she'd excused herself from Matthew's company to go and make sure that she was alright.

"Sybil, darling," she says, having knocked on the door and receiving no answer. "It's me. Are you alright?"

Still nothing.

Deciding that she must be sleeping, Mary tries to let herself in only to find the door locked which sets the alarm bells ringing - Sybil never locks her door, it's always open to those who need or want to talk. She needs to get in there, she needs a key but wouldn't have a clue as to where to find one.

Anna.

Anna would know.

Dutifully, the maid asks no questions when approached by her lady and, sure enough, she returns as quickly as possible with the keys usually so closely guarded by the housekeeper. It seems to take an age for them to find the right one and all the while Mary's heart is racing. She knows that Sybil is most likely fine and is sleeping off whatever ailment it is she has, but the poor darling has been so out of sorts recently that it's hard to tell what's going on in that head of hers anymore.

"Sybil?" she calls out, seeing the bed empty and unmade. She freezes, panicking as she hears muffled sobs coming from the adjoining bathroom and, hitching up her skirts, practically runs the short distance across the room. The sight before her eyes makes her blood run cold and she reaches out to hold onto the doorframe for support.

"Anna, find Mama for me would you," she manages to say. "And for God's sake fetch a doctor too."


	13. Keep Calm and Carry On

**_As always, I apologise for the delay in updating this story - I've been knee deep in exams but they're all over with for now (thank God) and so I've had a bit of time in which to write. This is quite a short-ish chapter and is really just a continuation of the previous one. You will find out what happened to Tom soon enough, I promise, but I just needed to introduce a new character into the mix and I can't wait to find out your theories as to how this person fits into the rest of the story - it might seem obvious but you know how cruel I can be. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

"_I would have you smile again, not grieve for those whose time has come_."

**_Théoden - the Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King_**

She can't even meet her mother's eyes, knowing that what she's done is probably unforgivable to her. She can't bring herself to regret those nights she had spent with Tom because, even now after everything that has happened, they will remain some of her most treasured memories. Those were the nights that she had surrendered herself to human nature in its most basic form and learnt what it truly meant to love and be loved in return.

"Are you angry with me?" asks Sybil quietly, staring down at her duvet cover.

Cora sighs as she sits herself down on the edge of her youngest daughter's bed and takes her hand in her own. "Not angry, no," she tells her. "Just... rather disappointed."

"Then it's worse than I thought."

"Sybil, look at me... I think there's something you need to tell me."

Sybil takes a deep breath and nods. She tells her mother everything - how she and Tom had met that summer in Ireland (though she omitted the part about him being the Donnelley's chauffeur and her father finding her in his bed with him), how their paths had crossed again as she'd nursed him back to health after he'd been injured in France, to their engagement and the subsequent intervention of her sisters on their wedding day. She does well to hold back her tears as she recounts receiving the letter from the War Office that had broken her heart, only to discover mere weeks later that she was pregnant with her dead fiancé's child.

"When were you going to say something about the baby?"

"I... I don't know," she admits. "I hadn't really thought of it."

"But you were four months gone," replies Cora. "How could you possibly have expected to keep it hidden?"

"I was going to go to Ireland," she says. "To stay with Tom's family until the baby was born. He always said that if anything were to happen to him then I would be more than welcome there... that I would be safe from anything and that they would look after me. I... thought that maybe his eldest brother and his wife could raise the baby as their own. They've been trying for another for so very long now to no avail. Though recently I'd been thinking and I was beginning to get used to the idea of being a mother because it was the only part of him that I had left. I would have made it work somehow... how exactly, I'm not sure but I would have. Only now that's just something else that I've lost. I have nothing left, Mama... I'm a ruined woman with a broken heart." She falls into her mother's embrace then, her body racked with sobs as she wept for the only man she's ever loved and the child that never came into being - a child that she'd already begun to see as a little boy named for his father. Little Tommy Branson with bright blue eyes and his mother's dark curls who would have grown up knowing just how loved he was and that, if he really set his mind to it, he could achieve anything he dreamt of. But, alas, some things are not to be and, as much as it hurts, she knows that she has to find the strength to carry on and start the next chapter of her story.

"Does Papa know?" she sniffs, the thought only just crossing her mind.

Cora shakes her head. "No... Mary told him that you have a stomach flu that was going around the hospital."

"Please don't tell him the truth."

She kisses the top of her baby girl's hair in a silent gesture of agreement. She is already keeping one daughter's secret from her husband and a part of her knows that she shouldn't really keep a second - but they are her children and, like a lioness protecting her cubs, that maternal instinct kicks in and she knows that this is what she has to do to protect her girls.

If things had been different, Cora thinks to herself, Sybil would have made the most wonderful mother and maybe one day she'll understand just what it means to love someone so unconditionally that you'd do absolutely anything for them.

_**-xxx-**_

Much to Sybil's evident delight, she's allowed to take on a few short shifts just over a fortnight later. It hadn't been Doctor Clarkson under whose care she had been, but rather that of a Captain Iestyn Morgan - a surgeon who apparently has the talent to perform miracles on the faces of those wounded beyond recognition. He's been coming over from Farley Hall several times a week to assess patients both at the convalescent home and at the village hospital.

"You're afraid of nothing, are you?" he says to Sybil one afternoon as she comes out of surgery about a month or so later. It had been a particularly complicated procedure which, in the end, Morgan had made the decision to amputate the limb rather than put the poor fellow through more misery.

"Oh I wouldn't say that," she replies with the hint of a smile as she scrubs her hands. "There are an awful lot of things I'm afraid of, though one of the very first things we were taught whilst training was a lesson in emotional detachment."

Iestyn smiles. "Well whatever it is, fearlessness or emotional detachment, you do it remarkably well," he says. "In fact, I think you're exactly what it is I'm looking for... come up to Farley with me next week. It's alright, you won't be alone, and Clarkson's gladly allowed me to poach a couple of his other nurses in exchange for some of mine for a few days."

Sybil's eyes widen - she's heard the stories about what goes on at Farley Hall, but never in a million years would she ever have thought that she'd have the opportunity to see it firsthand. "I... that would be wonderful. Though I can't see my father agreeing to it."

"I'll speak with him; your parents have been kind enough to invite me to dinner tonight."

Sybil smiles at him as she scrubs her hands clean. "Ahh, so you're our mystery guest. It's a good thing you're good under pressure, Captain, because Granny's coming and she'll no doubt give you a good grilling."

"Yes, I've heard the Dowager Countess is quite a formidable woman."

"That would be a compliment," Sybil laughs. She's much happier these days than she was just a few short weeks ago. If she keeps herself busy then it's almost enough to make her forget the pain, just for a little while, but it's in the confines of her lonely bed in the middle of the night where she cannot escape the nightmares. She keeps picturing him cold, alone and terrified as he clings on to the remaining threads of life. She tries to scream his name, to run to him and save him just as she had done all those months ago but it's all in vain and all she can see is his lifeless body sinking into the mud. "Granny's harmless really," she says after letting herself get lost in her thoughts for a moment. "Just be yourself and you'll be fine... I think it's Papa you really need to worry about."

**_-xxx-_**

It was obvious from the second that Captain Morgan had entered the room that he was being sized up by Violet Crawley. She watches him as he makes lively conversation with Sybil and Edith, quirking an eyebrow as he sees just how close he's standing to her youngest granddaughter.

"The girls certainly seem to be enjoying our guest's company this evening," says Robert as he moves to stand beside his mother. "I can't remember the last time I saw Sybil smiling so much."

"A new beau perhaps? He may be a doctor, but he's a cousin to the Marquess of Bute apparently."

Robert rolls his eyes. "Oh really, Mama," he sighs. "You can't seriously have had the stud books out already?"

"It doesn't hurt to know just what it is we're dealing with if there's a possibility we'll be seeing more of him."

From behind her father and grandmother, Mary can hear every word of their conversation and her heart aches for her baby sister. Neither of them know just how much she's been through or the heartache she's suffered and yet here they stand talking about marrying her off. Saying that though, one look over to the other side of the room and she can see why they might think the way that they do - there's colour in her sister's cheeks again and her smile is positively radiant. Perhaps it's time at last for Mary to hand over what she's been keeping hidden from Sybil for so long and, in giving her what is rightfully hers, maybe she can have some closure at last and start again.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil looks up from the letter she's writing to Kitty at the sound of a knock on the door.

"It's only me," Mary says with a smile as she enters the room, a thick white parcel tied together with a blue ribbon clutched to her chest. "I thought I'd come and see you before bed."

"We haven't done this in a while... always before dinner, but not bed so much anymore."

"You'd always come to me when we were little. Papa would have to carry you back to your own bed whenever you fell asleep in mine." The two sisters smile at one another, taking a moment to lose themselves in the memory of a past and of a simpler time. "I... I brought you something. I've kept them for far too long and I think it's time they were returned to you."

"Is it... I mean... are they his letters?" asks a rather stunned Sybil, swallowing her tears as she feels another stab of grief in her heart.

Mary nods. "I'm so sorry... I had no right to do what I did but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing."

"It's alright," replies Sybil quietly, running a finger over the familiar handwriting on the envelope as she takes the bundle from Mary. "Life's far too short for me to even contemplate being angry with you."

Her sister sits herself down on the edge of the bed. "You know, I heard Granny and Papa talking about how they think Captain Morgan is your beau."

"I know," says Sybil. "She asked me about him at dinner."

"And?"

"I do like him... just not in the same way I still feel about Tom."

"He was your first love... that's not something one forgets so easily."

"Like you and Matthew, you mean?"

"I loved him once but things are different now," she says with a sad smile. "He's marrying Lavinia and I'm engaged to Sir Richard. It was our own foolishness that tore us apart all those years ago... there's nobody to blame but ourselves."

Sybil sighs - she's still no closer to getting the truth from Mary but she knows that this is neither the time nor the place to press her for it. "Did you hear that Papa's allowed me to go and spend some time working with him up at Farley Hall?"

"I did," Mary nods. "Just what is it that he does exactly?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet. The way he explained it sounded awfully complicated but apparently it would be easier to understand once I've seen it. I must admit, I'm rather excited... they say he works miracles."

"You speak very highly of him."

"I owe him my life... in a way," says Sybil. "If you hadn't found me that night and he hadn't been here then I don't know what would have happened. I never did say thank you."

"It was nothing, darling... though you know that you could have come to me about it."

"I didn't think you'd understand."

"I know an awful lot more about fallen women than you might think."

"I don't understand."

"And right now I don't need you to... you have enough to deal with without concerning yourself with my woes. I'll say goodnight but you know where I am if you want to talk about **him**... about Tom."

The two sisters rise and embrace as they say their goodnights and no sooner has Mary stepped out the door than she's torn open the first envelope.

_My dearest, darling Sybil..._

She doesn't know what time it is when she finally finishes reading the letters though she's sure she can hear nightingale song coming from somewhere outside. She has to keep stopping to compose herself for a moment, wiping away her tears as she reads his heartfelt words. Never once had he given up hope on her and there she'd been thinking that he'd forgotten all about her after that summer in Ireland. Each one is signed off in the exact same way and it's only when she gets to the final one that she realises he's never coming back to her...

_I'll be seeing you._

_Yours, _

_Tom._


	14. Bad Luck Comes in Threes

**_Two chapters in as many days - I spoil you, don't I? Thank you for the amazing response to the previous one (I'm loving your reactions to the dashing Captain Morgan) it really gave me the drive to churn this one out as quickly as I could. Iestyn is based on the character of Major Gillies in the book I'm currently reading - it's called 'My Dear I Wanted to Tell You' and is absolutely wonderful (Dan Stevens read the audio book version, which is a bonus). I was so fascinated by his line of work and I thought that it would be something that Sybil would be excited to get involved with too. I'll explain just what it is in a few chapters time because it doesn't really fit in here - this moves back towards canon slightly. I might be able to get another chapter done this weekend but I'm not promising anything. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

"_I have come to the conclusion that you are braver than I, because you admit the possibility of recovery, and you fight and work for it every day, with your optimism and your cheerfulness._"

**_Nadine Waveney - My Dear, I Wanted to Tell You_**

**August 1918**

The first time she saw one of them, she didn't quite know what to think. He was sitting on a bench overlooking the small pond in the gardens- unlike so many of the men she had become accustomed to seeing at Downton, there was no sign of any injury to his limbs and at first she'd thought that he was well on his way to recovery and would be returning home to his family soon. That was before he'd turned to her, before she'd seen his face. It was just a mess of gauze and bandages with two dark brown eyes staring back at her which would have been beautiful had they not been filled with such sadness. That had been months ago and even now whenever she comes up here he will always bow his head and wave to her - he's started to smile now and she can't help but return it. At first, Mary had pitied him but now that she knows his story and the role her sister had to play in it she realises that pity should be the last thing she feels for him - he is alive and lucky to be so. He can't speak yet, but he writes all the time and he sees the beauty of the world and all that is right and good in it despite the hell that he's been through. If anything, she feels envious of him these days.

As always, Sybil greets her at the door with a bright smile despite her clear exhaustion. She spends most of her time at Farley these days, coming home every other weekend and for the odd few days here and there whenever she gets the chance. She had enjoyed being home at Downton but it had soon lost its charm and she had been beginning to find it all rather mundane. At least here working with Iestyn (for the two are on first name basis now), she sees and learns something new every day. He gives her books on anatomy and talks her through procedures whenever she assists him in surgery - there are many who say that it's favouritism and whispers that they're keen on each other. They're wrong though and there's nothing more to the relationship between the surgeon and the Lady than a deep rooted friendship and mutual respect.

"Hello, stranger," she says, embracing her eldest sister and linking their arms together. "It's so good to see you again."

"You look tired."

"I'm exhausted," replies Sybil. "But it's completely worth it. Shall we walk into the village?"  
"Only if you have the time."

"I've been in surgery since nine this morning. The patient's being looked after and Iestyn says he can spare me for a few hours this afternoon."

Mary smiles, happy for her sister at just how content she seems to be with life these days - she's really managed to climb out of the pit of despair and let that famous Crawley fighting spirit prevail once more.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil stirs her tea - she takes sugar these days, Mary notices, and it's just another of the little things that go to show just how much she's changed.

"So how are things at Downton?"

"The same as always, for the most part," replies Mary. "Cousin Isobel's still in France and I think Granny's getting bored of the fact that she has nobody to spar with at dinner anymore. Mama and I finally got our way and Evelyn Napier arrived with us last week."

"How is he?"

"He's fine, considering... he's different, but then I suppose everyone who goes out to the front comes back a changed man. He's getting better though and that's really all that matters."

Sybil nods in agreement. "Are the two of you still friends?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Iestyn's my friend," she says. "Though people think we're more and we're not... I try not to let it bother me but then I think of Tom and I feel guilty though I can't understand why."

"I think that you're still grieving, it's only natural," Mary reassures her.

"Did I tell you that I've been writing to his mother?"

"I knew that you'd sent her a letter but not that you'd heard anything back," she says. "How is she, given the circumstances I mean?"

"I think she's alright," Sybil replies as she stirs her tea again for no real reason. "Her daughter, Órlaith, is getting married this weekend. I never met her but, from what Tom told me, I think she and I would have been very good friends."

"Though it's good that you've found another friend here in Captain Morgan. He seems nice enough."

"He thinks I have what it takes to train as a doctor after the war..."  
"I can't see Papa letting you go to University," Mary says with a smirk."It took an awful lot of convincing for him to allow you to come here."

"I know," replies Sybil sounding a little melancholy. "But it would be nice... to be able to study and learn new things every day. Things that are going to be useful and that I can use to help other people and just to have a little bit of freedom. I miss that about my time in London... among other things, obviously."

"He'll make you give it up after the war and..."

"Mary?" Sybil asks with concern as she reaches out to place a hand on Mary's arm as her sister suddenly falls quiet. "Are you alright?"

"I... I'm not sure," she replies. "I suddenly felt terribly cold."

An inexplicable sense of déjà vu takes hold of Sybil. "Come on, we should be getting back."

Mary nods in agreement. There's something wrong - she can feel it and yet she doesn't have a clue what it might be. She prays that it's nothing, for this family has had far too much bad luck in recent years.

**_-xxx-_**

The first thing she becomes aware of is that somebody is shaking her and saying her name. It takes a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the darkness but eventually she makes out the figure of Iestyn standing at her bedside - exhaustion has made his usually lyrical accent thicker, his hair is mussed and there's stubble upon his cheeks.

"Sybil, wake up."

"What is it?" she croaks, sitting herself up and pulling the covers around her instinctively to cover her modesty. "What's wrong?"

"You have to go home... now," he says with urgency. "Your cousin has been seriously wounded."

"Matthew?" she asks, suddenly feeling much more awake. "But how will I get there?"

"I'm supposed to be in Downton today anyway," says Iestyn as he flicks on the light. "We'll take Major Fitzgerald's car and I'll drive you there. It won't hurt for me to arrive a few hours earlier than planned."

"Thank you," she says. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be ready to leave."

Iestyn nods and leaves her alone to get dressed. She can't believe it - Matthew. Wounded. Serious. The words replay themselves over and over again in her mind and yet they still don't make sense. He was a man who could get through anything, never more seriously hurt than a few scratches and a broken finger or two - they'd been so worried about him when he and William had gone missing earlier in the year and then they'd just turned up completely unscathed. "_William... was he with Matthew too_?" she thinks to herself as she dresses. She throws a few things into a bag including a clean uniform - they'll be bringing Matthew to the hospital and she wants to be there when they do. It's doubtful that he'll be awake - if he's as seriously hurt as she thinks he might be then he'll probably be sedated - but, when he does come round, it will be comforting for him to see a familiar face. Flicking off the light again and closing the door behind her, she says a silent prayer to herself and hopes with all her heart that everything will be alright.

**_-xxx-_**

After a few words of encouragement from Iestyn, Sybil moves into the ward to await Matthew's arrival. She sees Mary standing there, staring blankly out of the window, and suddenly what happened to her yesterday makes perfect sense. She remembers now how she'd felt it too when Tom had been fatally wounded - how it had felt as though somebody had walked over her grave. If she had needed proof that her sister was still in love with their cousin then that would have been it. She's about to say something when Doctor Clarkson appears behind them both.

"Right, they're here," he says, giving the sisters a moment to prepare.

"May I stay to settle him in?" asks Sybil, not knowing why she's actually asking for permission when this had been her whole reason for coming here in the first place.

Clarkson nods. "Very well," he agrees, knowing that it's probably for the best.

"I want to help too," Mary adds much to his surprise.

"Lady Mary, I appreciate your good intentions, but I'm concerned that Captain Crawley's condition may be very distressing for you," he tells her, perhaps coming off as being a little patronising. "Might I suggest that you hang back until the nurses have tidied him up a little?"

"I'm not much good at hanging back, I'm afraid," she replies. "I won't get in your way, I promise. But I will stay. You have volunteers, don't you? Well, that's what I am. A volunteer."

Sybil smiles at her sister's determination. Ever since they were children, Mary has been the bravest person she's ever known and never more so than in this moment. She remembers the first time she saw the wounded coming into the hospital and how it made her feel, but Mary is strong and she can do this. Even if it gets too much, Sybil will be standing right by her side the whole time. "Stand there," she says to her sister as the stretcher bearers begin to filter in through the doors. She hears Mary's breath catch as she recognises Matthew and even Sybil's professional instincts fail for a moment as she takes in the sight of her bruised and beaten cousin. She tries to talk to him but he doesn't respond though it's quite normal given the amount of morphine that's in his system.

"What does it say?" asks Mary as Sybil reaches for the card pinned to Matthew's shirt.

"Probably spinal damage," she says and the two sisters exchange a worried look. "It could mean anything. We'll know more in the morning." She picks up his uniform from the end of the bed and stares at the floor as something falls out from between the garments. "What's this doing here?"

"I gave it to him for luck," Mary says, fighting back the tirade of emotions at the sight of the little white dog clutched between her sister's fingers. "He was probably carrying it when he fell."

"If only it had worked."

"He's alive, isn't he?"

Sybil nods - he is indeed alive and, what with all the horrors she's seen these past few years, that means he really is one of the lucky ones no matter what damage has been done.

**_-xxx-_**

She knows that her father would probably go ballistic if he knew what she was doing but, in all honesty, she couldn't care less right now. After today, she needs three things - a drink, a cigarette and her friend for company. Walking hastily down the bachelor's corridor late at night so as not to be caught, she approaches Iestyn's room, knocking on the door and stepping inside when she's certain she hears him telling her to come in.

She gasps in surprise at the sight before her eyes...

He's lying on the bed in the arms of none other than Thomas Barrow.

**_-xxx-_**

**_Dublin, twelve hours later_**

Órlaith Branson stares at her reflection in the mirror - she looks every inch the perfect bride and this should be the happiest day of her life. She is happy, for the most part, but there is something very important to her that's missing. She clutches his letter to her chest and tries her hardest not to cry - her beloved big brother had promised her that he would be here to give her away on her wedding day and he wasn't. In his personal belongings they'd found letters addressed to each of them to be opened should the worst happen - Órlaith's, however, had come with strict instructions to remain sealed until her wedding day.

_My darling little sister,_

_If you're reading this then what I fear most in this world has come to pass and for that I am truly sorry. What it also means is that today is your wedding day - unless, of course, someone (and personally I'd blame Kieran) has left this letter lying around. Oh how I wish that I could see you today and to hold your hand as you make the biggest journey of your life so far - the one to the altar and towards your new life as Mrs Frederick Myers, no matter how much it would make me cry to see you go (and I'm not ashamed to admit that I would have cried an awful lot). I'm so proud of the woman you've become, Órlaith, and I know Da would be too - we'll be with you every step of the way and I'm sure I'll find him and we can watch together. _

_I love you forever and always. _

_Your beloved big brother, _

_Tom._

There's a knock at the front door and Aileen gets to her feet having been making some last minute adjustments to the hem of her daughter's dress.

"That'll be Doris with the flowers," she says. "She's got talent that girl and I really hope she uses it to make something of herself one day."

It isn't Doris.

It isn't anyone that she would have expected to see at all today.

It isn't possible.

"Hello, Mam... I'm home."


	15. Guardian Angels

**_Sorry for the delay in posting but I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it. I tried to do some research into prisoner of war camps during WWI but I didn't get very far so please excuse my artistic lisence (as I keep saying, I'm not a historian). Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

"_You can deny angels exist, convince ourselves they can't be real. But they show up anyway, at strange places and at strange times. They can speak through any character we can imagine. They'll shout through demons if they have to. Daring us, challenging us to fight_."

_**Sweet Pea - Sucker Punch**_

Aileen stares at her son in utter disbelief - there is absolutely no way that this can be happening and yet here he is, standing there on the doorstep of the house he grew up in, a little worse for wear but very much alive.

"Tommy?" she asks, just needing to be sure that this isn't some sort of apparition.

"It's me, Mam," he says with a smile. "I'm home." He keeps repeating those words as though he can scarcely believe it himself.

His mother pulls him into a tight embrace and kisses his cheek, fighting back her tears - there'll be enough of those today as it is. "It's a miracle," she whispers. "An actual miracle... and on today of all days too."

"What's happening today?" asks Tom, not really having had a chance to take everything in yet.

"Órlaith and Freddy are getting married."

He smiles genuinely for the first time in so very long. "You see," he half laughs. "I promised her that I'd be here to give her away."

"And here you are."

"And here I am," he smiles and kisses the top of his mother's head. "Now, let me in, I want to see the bride."

Aileen puts a finger to her lips, wanting him to be quiet so as he can surprise his sister, and takes him by the hand. She just needs to feel close to her boy, to let her know that he really is here at long last - she doesn't know what miracle or act of God brought him here but, quite frankly, she couldn't care less.

"Órlaith, there's somebody here to see you."

"Well as long as it's not Freddie, it's bad luck and... Tom!" she gasps and claps a hand to her mouth, the other reaching out to grab hold of the mantelpiece as her knees almost give way."

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he says with a smile. "You look stunning... though I can't quite believe you're my baby sister and... OW!" He yelps in pain as Órlaith swats him hard on the arm. "What was that for?"  
"What was that for?! For God's sake, Tommy, you've been gone all this time and we thought you were... oh, I can't even say it... but I have never been happier to see you!"

Aileen sniffs into a handkerchief as she watches the tender reunion between her two youngest children - Tom had made Órlaith a promise so many years ago that he would be here to give her away on the most important day of her life. All that had changed though when they'd received that devastating letter in what now seems like another life.

"Are you still going to give me away?"

"Of course I am," he smiles. "Though I promise not to try and steal your thunder."

The pair of them laugh then and all is well at last in the Branson household.

-xxx-

Deciding to make the most of the warm weather and not having much else to do, Sybil and Iestyn decide to take a long walk through the grounds of the Abbey to discuss just what exactly had happened the previous night.

"I'm sorry that you had to find out the way that you did," he says as she takes his offered arm. "Though, saying that, I'm not sure that it's something I would have told you anyway. You must think me repulsive."

Sybil furrows her brow. "What makes you say that?"  
"Because most people generally are."

"I'll admit that I was surprised, but I could never be repulsed," she replies sincerely. "I've had my suspicions about Thomas for a while, but never you. I know what it's like to love someone that you shouldn't."

Iestyn shakes his head. "I don't love him... it's a passing fancy, nothing more."

"The point still stands... have you ever been in love?"

"Once," he tells her. "I was young and there was a boy who worked the fields on the farm owned by my mother's father. I was home from school for the summer and we... well, it started as a friendship and then became something more. I didn't know that this was what I am before him. I don't think that being what I am is a choice... I mean, why would anyone choose to be something that is so reviled by the world? Why would I choose to be something that could see me locked away like the monster they think that I am?"

"You wouldn't... you can't help who you fall for. Now that is something I really do understand."

Iestyn rests a hand on hers and smiles gratefully. "You've never told me what he was like."

"He's the most wonderful man I've ever met," she answers in a heartbeat. "There's really no other way to describe him as she stares wistfully into the distance."You remind me a lot of him though, what with your compassion and your intellect."

"Though no man could ever replace him?"

"Precisely," she says. "I think that one day I might find myself capable of loving again but there is nothing on this earth that can rival the way your first love makes you feel."

Iestyn chuckles. "Now that is something I understand, my dear friend."

-xxx-

Cora and Mary observe Sybil and Iestyn through the window as the pair make their way back towards the house.

"Has she said anything to you about him?" Cora asks her eldest daughter, knowing that there isn't much she and Sybil don't share with each other.

Mary shakes her head. "No, only that they're friends... though they do make quite the striking couple, I'll admit."

"Do you think he'll return to Wales once the war is over?"  
"I think he's in London now, why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering whether or not we'd be able to keep him here a little longer."  
Her mother's intentions and the look in her eyes doesn't go unnoticed by Mary, who sighs and turns her back on Cora. "Mama, I know what it is you're thinking, but you mustn't push her into something that she isn't ready for... especially not with everything Sybil's been through."

"I suppose you're right," says Cora with a sigh. "Though maybe when you're a mother yourself one day you'll understand that you just want to see your children happy."

-xxx-

Back in Dublin, the wedding festivities are in full swing and the Branson brothers find themselves sitting round the little table in the corner of the pub they would often frequent together whenever they were all home.

"But if you've been alive all this time," says Niall. "Why haven't we heard anything from you?"

Tom downs his whisky in one go and practically slams the glass down on the table, his hand trembling slightly as he does so. He meets Kieran's eyes across the table and, for the first time that he can remember, he sees concern mirrored in them and he swallows hard. Admittedly, he's been avoiding this conversation but supposes that his family have a right to know, despite none of them ever being able to understand or do anything to heal his scarred mind.

"I was in Germany," he says, smiling in thanks as Éamon fills up each of their glasses. "We went over the top one morning and it was absolutely brutal. Most of the boys I was with didn't make it and the ones that did were caught by the gas when we got to the other side. I just remember being in the trench and hearing the warning. The next thing I know, I wake up and I can't see a thing... I wanted to scream and shout but for some reason I just... couldn't. I heard their voices... I don't know what they were saying because they spoke German. They threw cold water over me and beat me until I fell unconscious again."

"You were in one of the camps, weren't you?" asks Éamon quietly. "I've heard about them... are they really as bad as they say they are?"

Tom shakes his head. "Not all of them, no. There are the good ones, the bad ones, and the ones inbetween... I think the one where I was fell into that latter category. They looked after us, but they worked us to the brink of exhaustion every single day. One of their doctors patched me up and, just like he said, my sight came back to me. It's not perfect but at least I can see again... even if I was completely blind, I'm lucky to be alive and that's all that matters."

"Did you escape?" Kieran asks.

"No... I don't know what happened but they let a few of us go. I made my way back to France and I've been in Paris ever since."

"Ever since? How long ago was this?"

"A month or two, give or take."

"And you didn't think to write?"

"It's not as simple as that, Kieran. It was far quicker for me to pull myself together and come back here to tell you in person that I'm alive than to have sent you a letter... I couldn't have come home straight away, you wouldn't have recognised me."

"But you're here now," says Niall. "And, as you say, that's really all that matters."

Tom nods. "Absolutely."

"Right," Kieran says, slamming his hand down on the table. "Enough moping, lads, this is our baby sister's big day and we're going to give her a send-off to remember, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Right then, to family."

"To family."

-xxx-

Sybil's volunteered to cover the night shift at the hospital that evening to give one of the other girls the time off to visit her brother and his wife's new baby. She hadn't realised at first, but when the girl had excitably told her about the birth, her hand had wandered down her stomach to press gently against her lower abdomen. It had been a subconscious move, but now she couldn't help but wonder what things might have been like if she hadn't suffered a miscarriage. She would most likely be in Ireland by now having, with any luck, been taken in by Tom's family. She thinks of them often and how they must be coping. His darling Órlaith might even be married by now and surely it would have broken her heart for her brother not to have been there to give her away just as she had promised. Tom's mother had shown her nothing but kindness during their short meeting all those years ago, and Sybil knows that times have been tough for that family in the past. She keeps them in her prayers and hopes that one day they can find some happiness because, in her view, there aren't many who deserve it more.

"Oh, Thomas, I didn't see you there," she says as she almost bumps into the former footman on account of being lost in her thoughts. "Though, come to think of it, I don't see you here much at all these days."

"Doctor Clarkson needed somebody here tonight," he tells her. "I said I'd be happy to do it and truth be told, Nurse Crawley, I was hoping that I'd run into you."

"Oh?" she replies with surprise. "Is everything alright?"

Thomas shrugs his shoulders slightly and stares at the floor. "I'm not sure."

"Is it about last night?"

"About what happened between Captain Morgan and me? Yes."

Sybil reaches out and places a hand on the sergeant's upper arm in a tender gesture of reassurance and understanding. "It's alright," she whispers softly. "I've already spoken with him and I assure you that I'm not going to say anything to anybody. I saw how you were with that poor Lieutenant Courtenay shortly after I arrived back here and I had my suspicions that you were... well, that you were that way inclined."

Thomas shudders at the memory of that young officer, a budding architect who had had so much talent and potential, only to have it cruelly snatched away from him when he'd been blinded by gas. They'd nursed him back to health and he'd found himself in the care of both Thomas and Sybil once she'd recovered and was back at work, learning to cope with his disability and adjust to his new life. At the slightest bit of improvement and the first signs of a shortage of beds up at the Abbey, his name had been one of the first on Clarkson's list of those who had to go and return home. Sensing that Edward's mental scars still remained, Sybil had put up a fight. Not even with Isobel on her side could the good doctor be won over, and had ordered that the lieutenant leave practically as soon as the sun rose.

Sybil had found him mere hours later, dead in his bathwater and in a pool of his own blood.

"You're good to me, Lady Sybil," he says with a rare use of her title. "Not many people are."

"Thomas, we all need a friend every once in a while," she says with a smile and gives his arm a gentle squeeze. "And that's what I can be if you want me too... I don't even have to be your friend but we can talk should you ever feel the need to."

"I'd like that, milady."

"As would I."

"I knew him, you know," he says just as she's about to return to the ward. "Your Corporal Branson."

She turns back to face him and feels her jaw physically drop at his revelation. "What?"

"We weren't in the same regiment, but there were a few of us who just seemed to find each other and we stuck together through it all... he saved my life and I never got to thank him for that."

Sybil can feel the hot tears running down her cheeks but she doesn't care in the slightest. "Then that's all the more reason for me to be kind to you," she sniffs. "Because there are few people who I can talk to about him... few people who know the man he truly was."

"He was a good man, milady, if you don't mind me saying."

Sybil nods - for Thomas to say such a thing about another person means that it must be true and she is genuinely touched by that. "Yes he was, Thomas... he was the very best of men."

-xxx-

The months wear on and summer eventually gives way to autumn, bringing with it unseasonably warm weather which sees much of the inhabitants of the Abbey spending much of their time outdoors. For Sybil, much of that time is spent in the company of her cousin when she isn't required elsewhere. Much to everyone's relief, his spirits have been lifted in recent weeks and Sybil suspects that her sister has something to do with it - the two of them are inseparable and they've fallen so effortlessly back into that friendship they'd discovered before the war. She wishes with all her heart that they could just see how right they were for each other.

"I know you'd probably much prefer Mary's company but, alas, you'll have to put up with me today."

Matthew chuckles. "You know that I enjoy my time with you just as much."

Sybil smiles - Matthew is one of the few people who matches her intellect and will happily indulge her passions for politics and current affairs, with many still believing that it is improper for a Lady to have such interests. "Do you still care for my sister?"  
"You know that I do... she's a dear friend."

"That isn't what I meant and you know it."

Matthew sighs. "I sent Lavinia away because I couldn't give her the life she deserves," he says sadly. "I didn't want her to spend her days bound to me and my care and receiving nothing in return. I would be a heartless man to impose that on any woman, Mary included."

"You could love her... is that not enough?"

"Sometimes I envy your view of the world."

Sybil's lips curl up into a smirk. "Now I know you've been spending too much time with Mary," she says. "You're even beginning to sound like her."

"I'm not sure whether or not I should take that as a compliment... anyway, Mary's engaged to Sir Richard and so I couldn't marry her even if I wanted to." He chuckles again as Sybil wrinkles her nose in disgust, much like a small child who has just tasted a lemon for the first time. "You don't like him?"

She shakes her head and sighs. "I don't know enough about him to pass proper judgement but there's just something about him that unnerves me. What do you suppose she sees in him?"

"I don't know," he replies. "Though as long as she's happy, we can't really ask for more."

Sybil falls silent and stares across the lawn to where some of the more able bodied men are playing a game of cricket. She'd seen them all come in to the hospital, bloodied and broken almost beyond disrepair, and yet here they were the very picture of health. She still keeps her fingers crossed that Matthew may one day make some sort of recovery though, even if he doesn't, she knows that with the right support, he'll rise to the challenge that this different way of life has thrust upon him and, given time, he may very well thrive.

"Do you believe them when they say that it's almost over?" he asks.

Sybil nods. "I'd like to, though remember that they said it would be over by Christmas and that was four years ago."

"What will you do once it is?"

Sybil sighs wearily. She's found something of a confidant in Matthew in recent months and at times he's been an utter godsend. Whilst aiding him in his recovery, she had found that, by showing him that she trusted him enough to talk about her own thoughts and feeling, it was enough to coax him to do the same. "They'll all want to go back to the old days, that much is obvious," she says with a heavy heart.

"And you don't?"

She shakes her head and meets his eyes at last. "I know what it is to work now. To have a full day, to be tired in a good way. I don't want to start dress fittings and or paying calls or standing behind the guns... I can't go back to that life, Matthew."

"You'll find a way," he says sincerely. "You always do in the end."

**_-xxx-_**

Sure enough, mere weeks later sees the end of the war - well, for the British at least. Sitting at the usual table in the usual pub, Tom pours over the latest editions of various newspapers and scribbles down his thoughts in a battered old notebook and he knows that Ireland's war is only just beginning. Times have been hard for him since he made his return from France - he'd lost his employment almost as quickly as he'd found it and had only just managed to find steady work with a local mechanic as the owner, luckily enough, had known Tom's father back when they were boys.

He continues writing, not noticing the dark shadow looming over him as he works.

"Mind if I sit here?"

The accent is unfamiliar in these parts but, to Tom, he'd know it anywhere and his heart soars to hear it once more. "Harry Peterson," he smiles and gets to his feet, embracing the other man like one would a brother. "You're the last person I ever expected to see here."

Major Harold Peterson was a charming American in his mid thirties with dark hair, piercing green eyes and a smile that sent women weak at the knees - not to mention he was the eldest son of one of the most influential newspapermen in the States. He and Tom had met during their time in the camp in Germany and, together with a couple of others, had formed a friendship of sorts. They'd stuck together and kept each other's spirits up and, somehow, they hadn't given up in their fight and made it out of that hell alive.

"I was on my way back to New York and found myself in Liverpool," he says, sitting down at the table. "There was a ferry to Dublin and I thought why the hell not? You gave me the address where I could write you so that's where I went. You're mother... or at least I presume she's you're mother... told me that I'd probably find you here."

"I spend most of my time here," replies Tom sadly. "When I'm not at work anyway."

"What are you doing these days?"

"Mechanic," he tells him. "There's not much else I can do."

Harry furrows his brow and stares back at his friend. "Well, I'm going to get us some drinks and then I might just have a business proposition to discuss with you."

**_-xxx-_**

Iestyn's news that he'll be returning to London now that the war is over comes as something of a blow to Sybil. She hadn't known that she would take it so badly, but the thought of losing her dearest friend saddens her so much.

"But there's still a lot to be done here."

"I know," Iestyn sighs. "But the hospital in London is desperate to have me back. I'll fight for the worst cases to be transferred and I'll see to them personally. As for the others, I'll try and get back up to Yorkshire every few months or so."

Sybil stares into her teacup as she stirs her sugar into it. "I could see you then too, couldn't I?"

Iestyn nods. "You could," he says. "But you could also see me all the time if you came with me."

Her eyes snap up then and she sees that he has **that** look on his face - the one he has when he's having an idea about something. "You mean to London?"

"Why not?" he asks. "You're a brilliant nurse, Sybil, one of the best I've seen in a long time. I'd see that you received the proper training to make this a real profession and then I'd be proud to have you on my team. Who knows, maybe one day I could even help you to become a doctor."

Her eyebrows shoot up at this and she has to smile at his compliment. "Do you really think I'm good enough?"

"I know you are," he replies. "Mrs Crawley and Major Clarkson agree with me too. They said I'd be foolish if I didn't give you this opportunity."

Just as she's about to accept his offer, her face falls as she remembers the issue of her family. "No," she says. "I can't... my father would never allow it."

"Would he allow it if you were married?"

"Then it wouldn't be his decision," she says. "It would be my husband's, though it repulses me to admit such an archaic notion."

Iestyn's lips curl up into a smirk. "Then marry me... marry me and the decision is yours."

"Iestyn... no," she answers. "I couldn't marry you. You're my friend and I care for you deeply but that isn't who you are and I've lied to my family far too many times in the past already. I'm sorry if that sound heartless of me, but you know as well as I do that it wouldn't be right."

Iestyn laughs nervously and runs a hand through his hair. "I knew that it was a silly idea," he says. "But I thought that it was worth a try anyway. You were wrong though, it's not heartless of you. If anything, I appreciate your honesty."

Sybil smiles back at him and it's like a weight lifted from her heart. "Good, I'm glad to hear it," she says. "At least I know that we'll be parting as friends."

"The very best," he replies and raises his teacup at her in a toast to their friendship.

**_-xxx-_**

Several rounds later and Harry still hasn't revealed to Tom what it is that he wants to talk to him about. Instead, they've been talking about the people they knew, the places they saw and those few weeks spent in Paris trying to recover from their ordeal.

"Does your girl know you're back?"

"Nope," replies Tom as he stares into the amber liquid he's swilling around his glass. "I can't bring myself to write to her because, if I do, she'll want to see me."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Tom sighs. "I need to make something of myself before I go back to her. What kind of man would I be if I were to show up with no money, no real job, and no hope of giving her the life she deserves?"

Harry leans back in his chair and rubs a hand across his stubbled chin. "What would you say if I were to offer you a job?" he asks. "I've read your stuff and it's brilliant, you have real talent and you're wasting it just sitting here and tinkering with cars. I've spoken to my father about you and he's interested in what you have to say. Come to America with me, Tom, make your fortune and then come back here and marry your girl."

"You... you want me to go to America with you?" he repeats, unable to believe just what he's hearing. "Tomorrow?"

Harry nods. "You have the makings of an excellent journalist... I thought we'd both seen and done enough to realise that life's too short to sit around and regret the things we never did. So... what do you say."

He doesn't need to give it another second of thought and reaches out to shake Harry's offered hand. "You have yourself a deal, sir."

**_-xxx-_**

They were pining for the old days at dinner again and she knows that she cannot commit herself to this life anymore. Iestyn's been gone less than a week and already she knows that there is no other answer that she could possibly give. She doesn't care what her father has to say about it, she's almost twenty-one years old and more than capable of making her own decisions about what she wants to do with her life.

And what she wants to do is to go to London and become a proper nurse.

The following morning, she rises before the rest of the family and makes her way down into the village. Sometime later, at a hospital in London, Doctor Iestyn Morgan receives a telegram that makes his day.

**_Yes my friend (stop) my answer is yes_**


	16. Bright Young Things

**___This chapter was supposed to be much longer so I apologise if it doesn't make much sense - it's now split into two parts so it should all come together. You're going to meet a couple of new characters and some big things are going to happen that will be really important in later chapters. We're moving into the 20s now and it's all about change (which is what I'm trying to get across in both this chapter and the next). Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

___"The parties were bigger - the pace was faster - the shows were broader - the buildings were higher - the morals were looser - and the liquor was cheaper."_  
**_F Scott Fitzgerald - Tales of the Jazz Age_**

**December 1919**

Life in London was like another world - or at least it was when she was with Iestyn. If she'd thought that some of the things she'd done the last time she'd been here were scandalous then this is something else entirely. It's been a year since the war ended and change is in the air at last. Those who had been little more than children at its outset had had their youth snatched away from them by the conflict - boys had been forced to grow into men from the second a rifle had been thrust into their hands and the girls had become spinsters before they'd even been given the chance to bloom into women. With those days behind them, those who survived had vowed to make the most of the second chance they'd been given, to throw away the old ways of life and rewrite the rule book. This was their time and the world was theirs for the taking.

When Iestyn had first introduced her to his friends, Sybil had been uncharacteristically shy and had quickly realised just how sheltered her life had been. Yes, she'd had those blissful moments with Tom, but they were private and something that they had shared only with each other. Thankfully though, Iestyn's friends had welcomed her into their circle with open arms and she'd soon blossomed in their company. She had never seen women so glamourous and never before had she encountered so many men who would gladly listen to her opinions on politics and current affairs. They drink and dance and laugh long into the night at the weekends (something which makes her laugh when she remembers her grandmother once asking "what is a weekend" with complete sincerity) though, with their varying shift patterns, Iestyn and Sybil don't always join them and instead spend their breaks together in a little tea shop close to the hospital where they work. For the first time in her life, Sybil understands what it means to be free and, at last, she is content.

**_-xxx-_**

Just as expected, the request to return to Downton for the annual servants' ball arrives shortly before christmas. However, what Sybil hadn't anticipated was the instructions for her to bring a guest. The guest in particular was a Mr Edgar Hewitt, a man with whom Sybil had become acquainted with in the spring and the pair had become much closer in the months since. He was handsome and charming, he made her laugh and she was deeply attracted to him. For the first time since Tom's death, she had felt herself capable of loving again. At first, she had felt guilty and thought that maybe it was too soon for her to move on but, after several very long and meaninugful conversations with her sisters, she had decided that Tom hadn't been the kind of man who would have wanted her to mourn for the rest of her life - he would want her to live and to take life as it came at her. She had, as a result, accepted the invitation on Edgar's behalf and he was already looking forward to meeting the family that she often spoke of.

Sighing in frustration, she tucks a stubborn lock of hair back behind her ear as she reaches into her wardrobe to retreive the dress she'll be wearing for the ball - she doesn't allow herself many luxuries these days but this had been one of them.

"You should just cut it, you know," her friend Nancy says from the other side of the room. She's perched on the edge of Sybil's bead flicking through a magazine, holding it up to show her a picture of one of the up and coming Hollywood starlets. "This would look divine on you."

Sybil frowns. "I'm not sure," she says. "I've never cut my hair before."

"Well all the more reason to," smirks Nancy. Nancy also nurses at the hospital where Sybil works and, like her, she comes from a good family and had volunteered as a nurse during the war. However, her father had sqandered the fortune by making several bad investments and, in an act of rebellion against marrying a wealthy aristocrat to compensate for his recklessness, she had fled to London and hadn't looked back since. She had been one of the first people whom Sybil had become close to (all her old nursing friends had gone their seperate ways at the end of the war, though she still kept in touch with some of them) and she almost envied Nancy in a way - Tom had once called her a free spirit but, when she looked at Nancy, she at last understood the true meaning of the term.

"It'll grow back," she says with a raised eyebrow, still trying to convince Sybil that this is a good idea.

In one swift movement, Sybil crosses the room and pulls out a pair of scissors from the drawer of her vanity. "Do it," she says with determination, thrusting the scissors into Nancy's hand before removing the many pins that secure her hair into the simple knot that she battles with every morning.

Nancy practically squeals with delight as she runs her fingers through Sybil's thick mane and studies the picture in the magazine. "Oh, sweetheart," she says. "You're going to look the bees knees."

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil's new hair is, naturally, a constant topic of conversation upon her return to Yorkshire several days later.  
"What on Earth have you done?" asks Violet as the family congregate in the drawing room before dinner.

"It's one of the boys haircuts that the women in Paris are starting to wear," she says for what seems like the thousandth time. "It's much less hassle."

Mary smiles, giving her sister some much needed encouragement. "I think it looks lovely, darling,"

"I hope you won't try it," Matthew quips from his place beside her.

"I might," she retorts.

Thier flirtatious banter hasn't gone unnoticed and Edith coughs loudly to remind them that there are other people present. "So, Sybil," she says. "When is your Mr Hewitt arriving?"

"Tomorrow," she replies. "He would have come up with me this afternoon but he had some urgent business to attend to. He's getting the early train in the morning."

"He'll be here the same time as Richard then," her eldest sister says, her mood becoming much more somber at the mention of her fiancé. "Perhaps Pratt can pick them up together?"

Their father nods. "What is it he does again, Sybil?"

"He's a lawyer," she says, thankful that the conversation has at last moved away from the subject of her hair. "Or at lest he was before the war. He studied at Yale and then practiced as an attorney in New York for a while. He's looking to begin the move into politics and we joke that he rather fancies himself as a future president."

"We?" Violet questions. "Ahh yes, your cohort of vagabonds and miscreants."

"They aren't vagabonds and miscreants, Granny," she corrects. "Most of them have perfectly respectable careers... Doctors, nurses and a barrister. Yes, there are writers, artists and poets and we do associate ourselves with a former gaity girl too but I daresay I see no shame in any of that."

"Well, I'll say that your Mr Hewitt sounds rather lovely," says Cora, interjecting at the opportune moment as she sees the Dowager's lips purse and her grip tighten on her cane. "I'm very much looking forward to meeting his acquaintance."

"Well, you would be," her mother-in-law says. "He's one of your lot."

**_-xxx-_**

When the telephone rings for her the following morning, Sybil assumes the worst and believes that Edgar has realised what a ridiculous idea this is. Thankfully, the reality is far less disappointing.

"_You thought I'd abandoned you, didn't you_?" he chuckles when she tells him that she's glad he's still coming

"No," she replies with a smirk. "Of course not."

Edgar sighs and she knows that he's pacing up and down whatever room he's in - it's a habit of his that never fails to amuse her. "_Look, Syb, I'm really sorry that I won't be there when I said I would be. Things here have just turned out to be far more complicated than I thought they'd be_."

Sybil smiles at the use of her nickname. She's never had a nickname before in her life - everything has always been so formal and she's only ever really been called by her title or as "Crawley" when she's at work. At first she hadn't been sure, but now she likes it and thinks that having a nickname makes her feel... normal.

"What exactly is it that you're doing anyway?"

_"Just business thing_s," he replies. "Nothing to..."

"If the next words out of your mouth are something along the lines of nothing to worry your pretty little head about then you can stay right where you are," she interrupts with a laugh.

Edgar chuckles. "_I wouldn't dream of it_," he says. "_I'll never forget how you practically yelled at that stock broker for saying that_."

"I did not yell at him," she corrects. "I merely expressed my opinion of him in a rather vocal nature. That was the night we met, wasn't it?"

"_It was_," he says, sounding almost wistful as he loses himself in the memory for a moment. "_I knew right away that you were something special_."

Sybil feels her cheeks burn at his compliment - this man makes her blush like a deb at her first ball and she has to admit that it was his charm that had first attracted her to him. "Umm... When do you think you'll be able to get here?" Sha asks, getting the subject back on track.

"_I told them that I'll be on the four o'clock train to York regardless of whether or not they've reached a compromise_," he tells her. "_I'd like to get away earlier though_."

"Alright, though you will let me know when you're leaving London, won't you darling?"

"_That's the first time you've ever called me that_."

"So it is," she smiles, enjoying the way it sounds - it makes her feel as though they're a real couple. "We'll then, you'll just have to hurry and get up here so I can say it to you in person... darling."

"_You tease me far too much, my lady_," he chuckles. Their relationship is a flirtatious one and they delight in showing their affection for one another but they are yet to engage in more... intimate... activities. Sybil nibbles her bottom lip as she once again contemplates taking that step with him during their visit to Downton, though she knows that it's a dangerous plan as absolutely nothing is secret in this house for very long. If it doesn't happen here, it will most definitely be upon their return to London.

"Oh believe me," she whispers seductively, quickly glancing over her shoulder to make sure that nobody has been listening in. "That was nothing."

**_-xxx-_**

Much to Sybil's delight, Edgar arrives just after six, having managed to get a much earlier train. Making it in time for dinner, he quickly changes and enters the drawing room with a glowing Sybil on his arm.

"Relax," she says under her breath, feeling his muscles tense in nervous anticipation. "Mama, Papa, this is Mr Edgar Hewitt. Edgar, meet my parents, the Earl and Countess of Grantham."

"Lord and Lady Grantham," he says offering his most charming smile. "I'm so sorry for the terrible first impression I must have made. It was rude of me to show up so late."

Robert shakes this stranger's hand as he sizes up his youngest daughter's beau."Yes, well, you're here now and that's all that matters," he replies, forcing a smile as be remembers his wife's orders to "_be nice_".

"We're so glad that you could join us," Cora adds. "Sybil's told us a lot about you."

"All good, I hope?"

"What else would they hear from me?" Sybil beams. It's clear to everyone in the room that they make quite a striking couple as she introduces him to the rest of her family. "And this is Sir Richard Carlisle," she says finally. "Mary's fiancé."

"Sir Richard," he smiles. "You and I had the pleasure of meeting the last time you were in America. You were doing business with a friend of mine, Harold Peterson."

Richard studies the younger man for a moment before nodding his head. "You were his lawyer?"

"His son's lawyer, yes," he replies. "Though when Harry inherits, I'll be much more involved."

"Goodness," says Mary. "This is a small world."

"I'll say," Sybil agrees. "Who are the Petersons again?"

"Harold Peterson is one of New York's biggest newspapermen, very much like your Sir Richard," Edgar tells both Sybil and Mary. "I was at college with his eldest son, Harold Peterson Junior, though we always knew him as Harry."

"And how is the senior Mr Peterson?" asks Richard, more out of concern for his business assets than the man himself.

Edgar shakes his head. "Not good, last I heard," he says. "His son was a Major in the army during the war and he didn't take it too well when he heard that he was being held prisoner by the Germans. Not even Harry coming home has been enough to make him get better."

"How sad," says Sybil, her compassion for those she's never met continually never ceasing to amaze Edgar. "Though enough of that, have the two of you made any more plans for your wedding?"

Before either of them can answer, Carson appears to announce that dinner is served. Edgar, it seems, has just passed his first test with flying colours.

**_-xxx-_**

She looks to the sky and squints against the sunlight as she looks for the birds. She's never really cared much for shooting but, after being under the smog of the city for so long, it's just nice to get outside and enjoy the clear country air. Her gaze shifts to the left and she can't help but smile at the sight of Mary and Matthew laughing together just as they had done in days gone by - if that wasn't enough, their little performance at dinner the other night had made it so clear that they were still so very much in love.

"So, what's their story?" Edgar asks, following her line of sight. "I'm still not sure I fully understand."

Sybil sighs and shakes her head. "Nor do I, most of the time," she says. "He asked her to marry him just before the war but then something happened and she never accepted him. He left to join the army and the next they saw of each other he was engaged to somebody else."

"But he never married her?"

"No, Matthew called off their engagement after he was injured. He didn't think that he could give her the life she deserved. Of course, none of use could ever have predicted that he'd make a full recovery but the last I heard, the delightful Miss Lavinia Swire had married a childhood sweetheart and was expecting their first child."

"And what about Lady Mary?"

"You don't need to call her that," Sybil smirks. "Not when you're talking to me."

"How did she end up engaged to Richard Carlisle?" asks Edgar. "Anyone can see that he makes her miserable."

"You've known her less than a day and already you've come to that conclusion? Your powers of observation amaze me."

Edgar chuckles. "I'm a lawyer," he smiles. "It's my job to know what people are thinking." He cocks his rifle and aims for the bird pulling the trigger and cursing when he misses.

Sybil raises an eyebrow at him. "Is that how the West was won?"

"Don't mock me," he replies. "You're half American... But I suppose you can do better?"

"Of course I can," she says. "Though you'll have to show me how."

Knowing that he'll never hear the end of it if he doesn't, Edgar hands the gun to her and moves to stand behind her, laughing as she abruptly points it up towards the sky. "Slow down," he says, covering her hands with his own and sliding them into the right position. "Not so tight, relax just a little bit..." He moves one of his hands down to her hip, pulling her flush against him and she can feel his warm breath tickling the exposed flesh of her neck. This whole experience feels strangely erotic and she doesn't think she's ever desired him more. There's a rustling in the trees and out flies a pheasant - on his command, Sybil pulls the trigger and the bird falls from the sky.

"I did it!" she squeals. "I got one!"

"Beginners luck."

"You're just bitter because it means I'm doing better than you," she says triumphantly, handing the rifle back to him and kissing his cheek before disappearing into the trees in search of her bird.

_**-xxx-**_

Sybil stops in the hallway just outside the small library as she hears raised voices coming from within. She's yet to figure out what's going on when the door opens and she springs back into the shadows to avoid being caught eavesdropping. Out storms Sir Richard, closely followed by her equally as angry looking father and then a rather stunned Mary bringing up the rear. Almost instinctively, Sybil reaches out and grabs hold of her sister's wrist and pulling her towards her.

"Good God, Sybil," she says. "You gave me such a fright."

"What happened?"

"Nothing," she lies, visibly swallowing her tears. "How much did you hear?"

"Not much," Sybil replies. "Just shouting, that's all. Is everything alright?"

Mary nods and looks at her youngest sister, her big brown eyes filled with unshed tears. "It's done," she mumbles. "It's over."

Before Sybil has time to probe her further, Mary snatches her arm out of her grasp and practically runs down the hallway and up the stairs. While she wants nothing more than to chase after her and find out what's wrong, she knows that it's best just to leave her sister alone for little while, though she's sure that she'll be paying Mary a visit before bed, just as she used to do in the old days when they were children.

"Ahh, Sybil, there you are," her grandmother's voice says from behind her, dragging her out of her thoughts andback into the present. "Will you put that job of yours to good use and have a look at Matthew's hand?"

"Really, Cousin Violet, there's no need..." Matthew protests.

Violet cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "Nonsense," she says. "We wouldn't want the hero of the hour to have done himself another injury."

"Hero of the hour?" Sybil repeats once Violet is out of earshot.

Matthew chuckles as they move inside the library, sitting down side by side so as she can I select the damage. He winces in pain as she presses down on his knuckles and gently flexes his fingers. "You do know that she was exaggerating," he tells her. "I wasn't really being a hero."

"I think I can probably guess, but are you going to tell me how you did this?"

"I punched Carlisle," he says. "In the face... twice."

"Bravo," she replies with a smirk. "Though he must have been acting like a first class bastard to provoke you of all people."

Matthew gasps in mock horror. "I don't think I've ever heard such language from you."

"Sorry," she says with a blush. "One picks up much more than medical knowledge when working in a hospital."

"We'll, I'm glad because that's exactly what I called him. Is it broken?"

"No," Sybil tells him with a shake of her head. "I think you'll live... Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know why Mary was going to marry Sir Richard?"

Matthew searches his young cousin's eyes for a moment, trying to figure out whether she's asking him a question or wanting to share something with him. "Yes, I do," he says after taking a deep breath.

"Why?"

"I really don't think it's my story to tell."

_**-xxx-**_

Mary sets her book down as she hears a knock on her door and smiles widely as she sees her youngest sister step into her room.

"I'm sorry," Sybil says, not quite sure why she's whispering. "We're you just about to go to sleep?"

Mary shakes her head. "No, I was just reading... sleep is the last thing on my mind right now."

Sybil crosses the room and, just as she used to when she was little, slides into bed beside Mary and the two of them pull the sheets up over their heads, burying themselves under the covers and hiding away from the world whenever they had secrets to share. "You've ended it with Richard, haven't you?"

Mary nods, confirming Sybil's suspicions. "Yes, and I never knew just how much of a weight it was until it was lifted off my shoulders. We could never have made each other happy," she says. "It's best for both of us."

"I never really liked him," Sybil replies. "I tried to put my own opinions aside though because all I wanted was to be happy for you, but when it became obvious that you were unhappy with him then I just couldn't do that."

"Do you remember the Turkish diplomat who came to stay before the war?"

"The one who was found dead in his bed the following morning? How could anyone forget such a thing?"

Mary shifts uncomfortably and toys with the fabric of her nightgown. "We'll that's just it... It wasn't **his** bed that he was found dead in." She tells her sister everything then - his advances and how she'd given in to the desires that she hasn't completely understood but knew she wanted to satisfy, how she'd begged Anna and their mother for help and the subsequent cover up the following morning. Then there was Edith's letter to the Turkish ambassador and Matthew's proposal, how she'd never actually told him "no" and then how the war had ruined everything. The story continues and each new revaluation leaves Sybil's mind reeling.

"You must think me some sort of harlot," says Mary quietly as she comes to the end of her tale.

Sybil takes Mary's hand and squeezes it tightly. "Of course not," she says. "How could I? You know the things that I did... How could I ever think that of you when I'm hardly pure or whatever ridiculous term we're giving it these days?"

Her sister sighs. "Do you see now why all I wanted to do was protect you? How I didn't want to see you on the verge of ruin because I know exactly how that feels and the impact it can have? I love you far too much to see you go through that."

"I'd be a mother by now," Sybil says quietly after a moment or two, twisting the claddagh ring around her finger - she now wears it on the right hand, though with the tip of the heart pointing down to show that she has given hers to someone. "It would be our baby's first Christmas and Tom and I would be married if you han't stopped us."

"Though you'd be a widow too."

Sybil sighs. "Then I suppose things wouldn't be much different..."

Mary's about to speak again when there's another knock at the door. This time, it's Edith.

"I just wanted to see Sybil but you weren't in your room so I guessed that you'd be here."

Sybil shuffles closer to Mary and makes enough room for Edith to join them. "We were just talking," she says.

Mary nods in agreement. "Yes, I was just about to start probing Sybil on her Mr Hewitt."

"I do wish the two of you would stop fawning over one another in public," Edith says with a slight smirk. "It's enough to put people of their dinner."

"We do no such thing!" Sybil protests.

"Yes you do," her sisters say in unison, eliciting a chorus of giggles from all three of them.

"Alright, the two of you have just agreed on something," Sybil laughs. "There is most definitely something wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," says Mary. "We've just learnt to put aside our differences since you went away."

"Edgar was in the dining room for an awfully long time with Papa after dinner," Edith says, changing the subject back to her sister's beau. "Even after Matthew and Sir Richard joined us, he was still there."

Sybil furrows her brow. "What could he have to discuss with Papa so privately?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Sybil gasps. "You don't think he means to propose, do you?"

Mary shrugs slightly. "It wouldn't come as a complete surprise," she says. "He's obviously besotted with you."

"What do you think you'll say if he does?"

"I'm not sure," she replies. "I can't say I've given it much thought."

"Darling, I know you loved Tom and he will always hold a special place in your heart, but don't you think that this match with Edgar could be for the best?" Mary reaches out and tucks a short strand of hair back behind Sybil's ear and the youngest Crawley sister feels Edith's grip on her arm tighen in a gesture that's somewhere between comfort and reassurance.

"It's the last day of the year tomorrow," says Sybil. "Time for a new year and a new start... Perhaps marrying Edgar might just be the perfect way to begin."

"It's a new decade too," Edith adds. "I hope it's significantly better than the last."

Mary nods in agreement and reaches over to the bedside table to flick off the lamp - all three of them are quite comfortable where they are and there doesn't seem to be much sense in sending the younger two back to their own beds. "I quite agree, she says, stifling a yawn. "I hope it's significantly better for all of us."


	17. A Truth Universally Acknowledged

**___I've managed to get this chapter out as quickly as possible because it's one that I've been looking forward to for so long - things are really beginning to heat up and I promise you that why Tom did what he did in not telling Sybil that he wasn't dead will become clear soon. This story is my baby and I'm so close to reaching the 100 review mark - it would make my day if we could do it on this chapter! Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged that as soon as one part of your life starts looking up, another part falls to pieces_."

_**Bridget Jones - Bridget Jones's Diary**_

Much to Sybil's surprise, her father asks her to accompany him on his walk the following morning. Not being able to remember the last time the pair of them spent some time alone together, she's more than happy to accept his offer even though she knows what it is that he probably wants to speak with her about. Arm in arm, they walk in companionable silence across the snow covered grounds, watching as Isis bounds happily around them as she tries to catch the snowflakes between her teeth. Sybil loses herself in the memories of being a small child and how excited she used to be whenever it snowed - she would stay outside for hours on end, chasing the dogs and enticing some of the servants into snowball fights, ignoring the calls from her parents and governess to come inside before she caught her death. While she still adores the snow and just how beautiful everything looks, she misses that naivety she once had and sometimes wishes that she could go back to the days of not having a single care in the world. That isn't to say that she doesn't regret the life she has now - quite the opposite in fact - but sometimes, it's just nice to escape from it all.

"You're very quiet," Robert says, observing his youngest daughter's rather peculiar mood.

"I was just thinking," she says with a small smile. "I was remembering how we used to play outside in the snow when we were children. I hid from you all one year so that I wouldn't have to come inside and ended up coming down with the worst cold imaginable."

Her father chuckles. "You certainly learnt your lesson," he says. "Though not even that stopped you from wanting to go back outside the following day. You cried when Clarkson said you were finally allowed to leave your bedroom only to find that it had all melted."

"Gosh, I don't remember that bit," she replies. "How old must I have been?"

"You were three, he tells her."And even then we knew that, once you were adamant about something, there was no holding you back."

"It seems like so long ago," she says wistfully. "Almost like another life."

"And yet, for me, it only seems like yesterday. It's the reason why I sometimes forget just how much you've grown up. You've become a wonderful woman, Sybil, and I know I don't say it very often but I really am incredibly proud of you."

She looks up at her father with an expression somewhere between awe and confusion. For him to make such a declaration is uncharacteristic of him to say the very least and she can't help but wonder what's brought this on. "Papa?"

"I must admit, at first I thought this nursing thing was just a passing phase or another attempt at rebellion," he says. "But you've proved me wrong and I think that I at last understand that it's something you enjoy doing."

"Oh it's much more than that, Papa," she says, her grip on his arm tightening. "I feel that, for the first time in my life, I'm actually doing something worthwhile. You and Mama have always said that I was intelligent, but I'm putting that knowledge to good use and learning all these incredible things... things that I know are going to help other people and save their lives. Did I tell you how I delivered my first baby last week?"

For the best part of an hour, Robert listens as she tells him all the things that she's seen and done - of the work that she helped Iestyn with during the war and how they're striving to continue it more than a year later. He watches as her eyes light up and her hands become animated as she speaks of medical procedures and science that he couldn't even begin to pretend to understand. She'd once begged him to let her go to a real school, for the chance to attend university just as some of her American cousins had done. Now, he almost regrets denying her that opportunity because he sees that it probably would have suited her down to the ground and she would have thrived in that environment. This latest venture, it seems, has been the next best alternative and, as he said, she has blossomed into quite a remarkable young woman.

"It seems you've made quite an impression," he says as she tells him about how some of the senior nurses have said that she could go far with her career. "And on nobody more so than Mr Hewitt."

Sybil blushes at the very mention of his name. "I'm very fond of him, Papa."

"I'd say you were more than fond of him," he replies. "He asked me something last night, though I suppose you already have an idea of what it might me."

Sybil nods. "I think I could probably guess," she says. "What did you tell him?"

"That, when the time came, I would be more than happy to give the two of you my blessing."

"Why does everyone seem to have discussed my marriage with everybody else apart from me?"

"Do you not want to marry him?"

Sybil shakes her head. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all," she says. "I think I'd like to, very much in fact, but I just wish that people would stop to consider my feelings on the matter."  
Robert furrows his brow - now she's beginning to sound more like her old self. "You just said that you wanted to marry him."

"But what if I didn't?" she asks. "I don't wish to sound impertinent, Papa, but one of the reasons why I left for London in the first place all those years ago was because people were trying to plan my life for me. At least wait until he's proposed before you start discussing floral arrangements."

"That was your mother's doing," he says with a light laugh. "I wasn't involved at all... she found the three of you together this morning."

"Really?"

Robert nods. "She said that it reminded her of when you were all children. She didn't have the heart to wake you."

"I didn't realise just how much I missed them until I came home," Sybil tells him. "Do you think that Mary will be happier now that she isn't going to marry Sir Richard?"

"Most certainly," her father replies. "I never really liked him. Your Mr Hewitt has made a better impression on me in just a couple of days than Carlisle did in three whole years."

Sybil bites her lip as she tries to contain her laughter. "I just wish she and Matthew would open their eyes and see what the rest of us can. They're so right for each other, just too stubborn to admit it."

"Your words, my dear girl, not mine."

This time, she really does laugh. "But you agree with me nonetheless?"

"Of course I do," he agrees. "Though you know Mary, she's stubborn and we mustn't push her."

Sybil nods. "And people wonder where I get it from... Papa, can I ask you something? I think Edgar could use a valet for the rest of our stay. Could you ask Carson if he could spare Thomas for a while?"

"You speak very highly of that man. Should I be worried?"

Sybil laughs. "No, he and I became friends during the war. We worked together with Doctor Morgan, remember?"

"I struggle to keep up with you and your acquaintances."

"They look after me," she smiles. "Surely that's all you need to know?"

"I'm perfectly sure that you're more than capable of looking after yourself, though I'm glad to hear it."

Sybil's grip on her father's arm tightens and she smiles contentedly. At last, there is peace between them and it comforts her to know that he finally understands her and accepts the life that she's living...

And, right now, she knows that she can't ask for any more than that.

**_-xxx-_**

She finds Mary standing alone outside, watching as the snow continues to fall from the heavens and coat everything in a blanket of white that glistens like diamonds in the dim light of the lamps coming from the house.

"Mary?" she asks, approaching her with caution as she hears her eldest sister sniff tearfully. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, darling," she replies, forcing a smile as she wraps her arms around herself to keep her warm against the cold. "I'm just... thinking."

"About what?"

"I've made a decision about what I'm going to do now that I've broken things off with Richard," she says. "He'll publish my story and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to deal with the scandal that will come of it... I'm going to go to America and stay with Grandmama for a while. I think a change of scenery will do me the world of good."

Sybil sighs wearily. "But you are strong," she says. "You're the strongest person I've ever met."

"But not as strong as you," Mary replies. "I've always envied you in that respect."

"Stay, please."

"I can't, darling... I really can't."

"But what about..."  
"Please don't ask me about Matthew," she interrupts."He knows that I've been considering this."  
Sybil moves closer to Mary, more for warmth than anything else but also so that she can let her sister see the compassion in her eyes. "But what if he asked you to stay? Would you?"

"I'm not sure," she answers. "I think I need to go though, just for a few months."

"I'll miss you."

Mary pulls Sybil into a fierce embrace then, kissing the top of her little sister's head as she buries her head into her shoulder. "Oh darling, I'll miss you too," she says. "Though I think your next big adventure may be closer than you think."

Sybil pulls away from Mary and furrows her brow as she realises that her sister is looking over her shoulder. Turning to see what has caught her attention, she sees Edgar standing there in the doorway, observing the tender scene before him.

"I'll give you two a moment alone," Mary says, squeezing Sybil's hand tightly before returning to the party.

Edgar removes his jacket as he moves closer to Sybil and drapes it over her shoulders. She smiles at his tender gesture and her heart begins to race at the intensity of his gaze.

"You look so beautiful tonight," he tells her. "I don't think I've had the chance to tell you that yet."

"Thank you," she blushes, staring down at her feet. "I used to love the servants' ball as a child. It was one of the few nights of the year when Mama and Papa would let us stay up late and there was something quite exciting and grown up about it."

"Lady Grantham was kind enough to share some stories of your childhood with me," he chuckles. "I daresay that if our children are half as adventurous as you were then they're going to be quite a handful."

Sybil quirks an eyebrow at him. "**Our** children?"

Edgar chuckles and steps closer to her, reaching out to take both of her hands in his. "Our children," he repeats. "I know that you know that I've spoken to your father and I should have come to you first but it just came up in conversation and it seemed like as good a time as any. I love you, Sybil Crawley, and you are the most incredible woman I have ever met... will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

She feels the tears sting her eyes and, before she can even give her answer a second thought, she flings herself into his arms and presses her lips to his. "Yes," she says as she pulls away from him. "Yes I will."

He smiles and pulls her even closer to him in a tight embrace, his lips meeting hers again in a passionate kiss that he pours every single ounce of the love he has for her into. The sound of cheering followed by a rousing chorus of Auld Lang Syne from inside the house causes them to break apart, laughing and smiling at each other as they revel in their happiness.

"Midnight," he says. "Happy new year, my darling."

"Happy new year," she whispers back. "Nineteen-twenty... a new beginning."

He takes her hand in his once more and they make their way back towards the house, Sybil nodding in agreement to his silent question of whether or not they should share their news tonight.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"It seems as good a time as any," she says. "There are a lot of people who care about me in that room and who wish to see me happy. I think they'd like to know."

"And are you? Happy I mean?"

Sybil wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him tenderly. "Yes, of course I am." She takes of his jacket and hands it to him so that he can properly dress himself before rejoining the party.

"Oh, I almost forgot," says Edgar, reaching into his inside pocket for something. "I have this for you. I hope it fits but, if not, we can soon have it fixed."

Sybil gasps as he presents her with the most stunning diamond ring she's ever seen - the stones are large, but not in a way that is gaudy or ostentatious. It is, in a word, absolutely perfect. "It... it's beautiful," she says. "Oh, Edgar, I love it."

"I knew you would," he replies, smiling as he slips it onto her trembling finger. "It was my great-grandmother's. She and my great-grandfather were married for over fifty years so I thought that it might have some luck left in it for us."

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by her mother as she waltzes past in the arms of her father and, after a quiet whisper in his ear, the proud parents leave the dancefloor and rush over to congratulate the newly affianced couple.

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen," Robert calls after a moment or two with the pair. "Forgive me for taking up more of your evening, but I have an announcement to make. As I said earlier, nineteen-twenty marks the beginning of a new decade and a new era in each of our lives, and I cannot think of a better start to the year than to have the privilege of announcing the engagement of one of my beautiful daughters." Several pairs of eyes glance across the room to Mary and Matthew, who still stand incredibly close to each other with his arm around her waist from where they still remain half in hold from their dance but, for the most part, many have speculated for days now as to what the presence of Lady Sybil's American beau could possibly mean.

"I'd like you all to raise a glass to Sybil and Edgar, to their happiness, and to new beginnings."

"To new beginnings," the guests chorus, many of them without drinks in their hand cheering and applauding as Edgar kisses his future bride's cheek. For some inexplicable reason, as Sybil looks up at her beaming fiancé, Tom's face is the only thing she sees looking back at her...

**_-xxx-_**

**New York, February 1920**

Tom Branson can't believe how much his luck has changed since coming to America. He is a man who has experienced poverty first hand, who once got into a fight with an older boy who lived on the same street as him over a scrap of bread because his family didn't have enough money to feed them properly. He is a man who worked from the age of fourteen and made a vow that he would do so until the day he died so that his children and his children's children wouldn't have to know what starvation felt like and that they would always be warm in the harshest of winters unlike the ones he remembers from the earliest ones of his childhood. He is a man who has been to the very centre of hell and back during the years he spent in France and Belgium at the hand of a king he had no allegiance to. He is a man who made a friend in his darkest hour and, because of that friend he is here now, living with said friend and two others in a luxurious townhouse in the city's upper east side, mixing with the great and the good of New York society and rapidly making a name for himself as one of the most prominent young talents in political journalism. He has become embroiled in a world of jazz and liquor and sometimes he has to pull himself out from under that cloud of smoke from the finest Cuban cigars just to find the nearest mirror and make sure that the person staring back at him is the same man that was once a scrawny, malnourished little boy who grew up on the streets of Dublin. He once made a promise that he would make something of himself and he'd made good on that - it had taken time and it was probably all down to being in the right place at the right time, but he'd done it. It was now about time that he started contemplating a return to England and setting about winning back the hand of his fair Lady Sybil.

He feels a hand on his shoulder - it's delicate and feminine and he thinks he knows exactly who it belongs to. Her name is Diana and she's a singer at the club he and his friends frequent on a regular basis. He still remembers so clearly the first time he saw her and how her striking looks and her velvet voice had lured him like Odysseus to the rocks under the power of the sirens. She was unlike any woman he had ever encountered before with skin the colour of the richest cocoa and short ebony hair that she wears in the latest style. Once or twice, he had very nearly given into his desires for this exotic beauty, but only his devotion to Sybil had stopped him from doing so.

"_It's Catholic guilt_," Harry had once teased. "_These Irish boys can't so much as look at a woman without having to say twenty Hail Mary's_."

"You look troubled," she whispers in his ear as she runs her fingers through his hair. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

Tom reaches forward for his glass of scotch - he much prefers an Irish blend but this is the good stuff where whisky is concerned and so it's the next best thing he supposes. It's no secret that Diana is rather taken with him and she continually ignores the fact that he spurns her advances, pushing him further each time in the hope that he'll give in to temptation. "I'm fine," he says. He does like the woman, very much in fact, but he just wishes that she would understand that he can't give her what it is that she's looking for. "Just... thinking."

"Oh, you're always thinking," she sighs. "You need to learn to relax."

Tom practically chokes on his drink as Diana's hand wanders up his thigh and dangerously close to his crotch. She takes the glass from him with her free hand, takes a sip and smiles at him seductively before leaning in to kiss him, feeling him harden under her touch. He lets out a groan of pleasure, unable to contain himself after going without the touch of a woman for so long, but as his head hits the wall behind him, he snaps out of his haze of desire and pushes her away.

"Diana, stop," he says. "I can't do this."

"Well it certainly **feels** like you can," she flirts in that thick Brooklyn drawl of hers.

"That's not what I mean... you're beautiful and if I didn't have someone back in Britain whom I loved with all my heart then I would have taken you to bed with me months ago. I'd have courted you properly and I probably would have loved you by now... but my heart isn't mine to give, it's belonged to someone else for so long now that I can't remember what it felt like not to love her."

"Ever the poet," she says with a sad smile, smoothing out her dress before toying with her necklace. "Is she special, your girl?"

"So special," he smiles. "I'm going to go back there soon and marry her, just like I promised I would."

"Good," Diana nods. "Because she'd have to be special to deserve someone like you."

Before Tom can say anything else, she leaves him be and returns to her place on the stage. He can't help but think that he must have come across as being rather heartless, but doesn't really have much of an opportunity to give it any real thought before Harry returns from the dancefloor, having left the company of a beautiful young redhead with whom he's recently been linked to in all the society pages of various newspapers.

"You'll need to go to confession for that one, my friend," he jokes, topping up their glasses. "I saw where she had her hands."

Tom sighs. "I've told her straight, I'm not interested."

"Because of your girl?"

"Yes," he confirms. "I'm going to go back and find her."

Harry beams back at his friend. "I was hoping you'd say that," he says. "I had a meeting with my father today. He thinks that I'm ready to take a more active role in the company and he wants me to go to London to oversee his publication there and look into the possibility of expanding further into the British press. As it happens, this paper has a vacancy going for a political editor... we both think that there's no better man for the job than you."

Tom raises his eyebrows. "Me?" he asks. "An editor? But I'm really not..."

Harry sighs in frustration. "Don't you dare say you're not good enough," he says. "Alright, so you're not one of these educated college types but you've **lived**. That's the thing that makes you better than good... it's what makes you brilliant."

"You really think so?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't... so, London?"

Tom nods. "London... it's time."

**_-xxx-_**

**London, three weeks later**

London hasn't changed at all since the last time he was here - everything still looks the same and the people go about their business just as they always had done. He'd been impressed by the offices of the Peterson's newspaper and the talent on offer from the team of journalists he'll be overseeing is of a calibre he's not sure he's come across and he's more than looking forward to reading their work. He's agreed to send monthly editorials to the paper back in New York, reporting on the workings of Parliament as both a thank you to those who gave him his start and, rather more selfishly, to keep his foot in the door of the American sect. With a new found sense of purpose, he decides to explore the city that will soon become his new home, reacquainting himself with his old haunts and finding new things to see and do. He lets his gaze wander, taking in the sights of the city when something in particular catches his eye...

Impossible.

It's her.

He doesn't think he's ever run so fast in his entire life, not even when they'd gone over the top during those few horrifying years he'd spent wallowing in mud and an all manner of other rather unpleasant things in some godforsaken French field, dodging German shells and bullets. War has changed him, just as it has changed everyone. He thought it had changed the way he felt about her but he couldn't have been further from the truth. It takes him a moment or two to realise that he hasn't been imagining things when he sees her on the other side of the street. He feels that familiar tug on his heartstrings that he used to get ever since the first time he saw her during that summer in Ireland when they'd met and every moment that that they'd shared together since. That summer feels like so long ago now that it almost seems like a different life. It's only now that he realises just how much of a boy he had been then - a foolish boy blinded by his first love - compared to the man he'd been forced to become from the second they put that rifle in his hand and expected him to kill without question.

She is as breathtakingly beautiful as ever - quite the woman now, he notices. That isn't to say that he'd ever seen her as a girl, but there's just something about her now that seems different to the last time he'd seen her. She looks like a true aristocrat, but there's also an air of freedom in the way she walks and the bright smile upon her face. The new fashions suit her too - the twenties were made for Lady Sybil Crawley, it seems, and he knows that he can't let this chance pass him by without doing something. He doesn't even stop to consider the consequences of his actions, nor what he'll even say to her (a simple hello will suffice), as he sprints down Piccadilly, not caring that he's drawing rather strange looks from disgruntled pedestrians as he barges past them. None of them matter though - only she does. If it weren't for the traffic drowning everything out, he would have screamed her name as loud as his lungs would possibly allow.

He stops dead in his tracks as he watches her enter the Ritz. Nausea takes hold of him as a completely different feeling grabs hold of his heart, this one ripping it clean out of his chest and leaving it in a bloody mess on the pavement at his feet.

She isn't alone, and he knows he's been a fool to think for one second that she'd wait for him.

Feeling thoroughly miserable, he decides to indulge himself in an old comfort - fish and chips from a little shop he'd discovered the first time he came to London. Usually, this is enough to cure any ailment from a headache to a broken heart. This time, however, it's quite the opposite. When he was a boy, fish and chips had been something of a luxury and he'd always loved trying to read the stories printed on the newspaper that they came wrapped in - what were the chances of, on this particular occasion, getting a piece detailing the engagement announcements for the first week in January?

**_The engagement is announced between Mr Edgar Hewitt III, son of Mr and Mrs Samuel Hewitt of Chicago, Illinois and Lady Sybil Persephone Crawley, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham._**

**_-xxx-_**

Back on the other side of the Atlantic, another Crawley sister begins her day. Mary has been staying with her grandmother at her house in the Hamptons for almost two months now and she can't remember the last time she felt this relaxed. She'll quite often spend weekends at the family's townhouse in the city and she's made friends who have places out by the sea. It's a different way of life out here and one that suits her down to the ground. Truth be told, she's not entirely sure that she wants to go back home.

"We've received an invite to Sybil's wedding," says Martha over tea that afternoon as Mary flicks through the day's paper.

Her eldest granddaughter looks up and smiles. "They've set a date?"

"Fourteenth of March," replies Martha. "You'll come with me, of course?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she says, furrowing her brow as something in the paper catches her eye.

"I still can't believe Sybil's getting married."

"I know, she'll always be my baby sister though. I... no, impossible."

"Beg pardon?" Martha questions as Mary had spoken so quietly she thought that she was imagining it.

Mary stares at the paper in shock - what she's seeing is absolutely impossible and yet there it is in black and white. Right there, in a photograph in the society section, is Tom Branson - the very same Tom Branson whom Sybil had thought dead for well over a year. There was no mistaking him, his face on the day that she'd interrupted his wedding burnt into her memory for the rest of time. "I... I need to write to Sybil."

**_-xxx-_**

Iestyn pops the cork on the bottle of champagne much to the delight of his companions who send up a rousing cheer as he begins to fill everyone's glasses.

"So, since this is the first time we've all been together in a while, we haven't had the chance to celebrate. I propose a toast, to the future president and first lady of the United States of America," he says with a smile, returning to that old joke regarding Edgar's political aspirations. "In all seriousness though, congratulations to the both of you... I hope you'll be very happy together."

Sybil and Edgar share a quick kiss as their friends raise a glass to them. While she'd appreciated her father making the announcement at the ball last month and the fancy tea party her mother had hosted in honour of the occasion, this was by far a much better way to celebrate. They'd chosen one of London's newer clubs for their outing - she'd heard of the Blue Dragon from her cousin, Rose, who is staying in London with Rosamund. Having been confined to the wilderness of Scotland for much of her life, Rose had grown restless on a scale that had surpassed even Sybil and, when asked if the girl would like to join them, she had dismissed her cousin's invitation proclaiming that she had arrangements with her own friends. Sybil had wondered just how it was that Rose had come to know so many people and so quickly in London society, but that was just the way of the world these days she supposed. While it had only been six years since Sybil herself was a debutant, a lot has happened in the time since and things aren't what they used to be. She's thankful for the way things have changed though - she enjoys the freedom that she's afforded these days and can't help but think that this is the life she was destined for instead of high society garden parties and being liked for who she is rather than just because of her title. Life, she thinks, is rather good right now - a wonderful fiancé, a loving group of friends and a job that she's not only good at but enjoys immensely. After so much darkness and bad luck, it seems like nothing could possibly go wrong...

But then Sybil should have learnt long ago not to tempt fate.

Edgar kisses her again and whispers something in her ear before excusing himself from the table for a second. She watches him as he approaches two smartly dressed gentlemen who have just entered the club - he embraces one of them as one would a brother but, in the process, obscures the other from her line of sight. Just as he moves, Nancy grabs hold of her hand and demands to see the ring, the other women around the table to follow suit and simultaneously begin fawning over the dazzling diamonds.

"There's someone I'd like you all to meet," says Edgar upon his return. "This is Harry Peterson, a very dear friend of mine from my days at Yale."

Harry bows his head slightly and offers a charming smile. "Pleasure to meet you all," he says. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought a friend of mine with me tonight."

Sybil looks up then, locking eyes with the second stranger.

Except he isn't a stranger... at least not to her.

"Tom," he says. "Tom Branson."


	18. Tonight She's Made Me Sad

**___Thank you so, so, so much for your response to the last chapter - I'm so overwhelmed by the fact that I've received over 100 reviews for this story now. On Tumblr, I pointed out that this was only supposed to be a ten chapter story - it's now almost double that, is 131 pages and over 55,000 words long and it's most definitely something I've learnt to become proud of. Anyway, there are only two chapters (and an epilogue) left at present though I do have a habit of deviating from these plans. I'm sure that, with the way the last one ended, this is a chapter you've all been looking forward to - THE BIG REUNION! Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_**

* * *

"_I wonder what went wrong,_

_I've waited far too long.  
I think I'll take a walk and look for her_."  
**_Don't Want to Spoil the Party - the Beatles_**

Sybil curses as her cigarette refuses to light. She knows that she could have lit one up at the table but she had needed a moment alone to collect her thoughts and a moment alone just to try and process everything that's just happened.

"Here, let me," a male voice says, striking a match so as to light her cigarette for her.

"Thank you," she says as she takes a drag. "Can I offer you one?"

"No thank you," he replies, moving out of the shadows so that she can see his face at last - she hadn't realised that he'd followed her and, in all honesty, she's not entirely sure what on earth she should say to him.

"You cut your hair," Tom says. He too feels slightly awkward and it's far from the passionate, loving reunion that he'd dreamt of for so long. "It's different... a good sort of different."

Sybil returns his complement with a somewhat forced smile - she's not sure whether she wants to kiss him or kill him and so that will have to suffice as a sort of happy medium for now. "You... you look different too," she tells him quietly. He's thinner than she can ever remember and there are a couple of imperfections upon his face - they're small, but to one such as Sybil who had studied and memorised every inch of his body, the tiny scar curing through his right eyebrow and the fact that his nose is ever so slightly out of place as though it's been broken are noticeable. The biggest difference, however, is how he's dressed. He looks truly magnificent - the cut of his dinner jacket reeks of the finest tailoring, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders that still remains despite his weight loss and the harsh black material brings out the blue of his eyes. He carries himself differently too, seeming much taller and almost proud - here is a man who has made something of himself, just as he promised, and that's a thought that breaks her heart just a little bit more.

"I... I heard about your engagement," he says, ending the silence between them at last. "Congratulations, I hope the two of you are very happy together."

Sybil takes a long drag of her cigarette and nods, the nicotine coursing through her veins and calming her down ever so slightly. "Small world that you should know his best friend."

"I work for his father," Tom tells her. "I've just accepted a job as a political editor at one of his newspapers here in London."

"You're a journalist?"

"Yes," Tom answers, shoving his hands in his pockets like he always used to do whenever he was nervous or about to embark on some grand speech. "Yes I am."

"That's... good," Sybil half smiles. "Really, it is. Are you married?"

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"Well surely there must be someone?"

Tom shakes his head. "No," he says with complete sincerity. "It's only ever been you, Sybil."

The anger and rage boils up inside her once again, emotions which are so alien to Sybil that she's still not sure what she should do. "God dammit, Tom," she practically screams, stamping her foot and tossing her cigarette to the ground. "God fucking dammit."

He's completely taken aback by the way she's speaking to him, having never heard her curse like that before. Several other people milling around outside the club also turn and stare on account of her little outburst, many of them unable to believe that such words form part of a woman's vocabulary. "Sybil?"

She storms off then, fighting back her tears and biting her lip so hard that she begins to taste blood. "Don't touch me!" she yells as he makes a grab for her hand. "Just... don't."

He watches her as he makes her way back inside, following her at a distance as she shares a private word with her fiancé and feeling his soul being crushed just a little bit more as he kisses her. A hand claps him on the back, startling him and catching him off guard.

"Stunning girl, isn't she?" Harry asks. "Edgar's fiancée?"

"She's that alright," Tom agrees sadly, looking back across the crowded room again only to find that Sybil is nowhere to be seen.

"She's a 'crat, you know," adds Harry, his speech a little slurred on account of the copious amount of alcohol he's consumed. "Wasn't your girl a 'crat? Maybe they know each other."

Tom laughs bitterly, taking the glass of whisky from his friend's hand and knocking it back in one. "I'm sure they do," he says. "Actually, I'm certain of it."

**_-xxx-_**

Iestyn leans casually against the doorframe of the stock cupboard, watching as Sybil potters around with movements that are uncharacteristically aggressive.

"Why did you leave so early the other night?" he asks.

"I felt unwell... just a headache, that's all," she tells him very matter-of-factly as she stores away some bandages. "Nothing to worry about."

Iestyn furrows his brow. "Is there any chance that you might be pregnant?"

Sybil abruptly turns to face him. "Beg pardon?"

"I asked whether or not there was any chance you might be pregnant?"

"No, I heard what you said it's just... oh, I don't know," she sighs. "I'm sorry, I must have sounded terribly rude then. There's no chance at all. Edgar and I, we haven't... well, you know? I want to do things properly this time."

Iestyn nods and moves into the tiny room to help her with her task - his rounds aren't due to start for another half an hour and he'd decided that he'd try and get to the bottom of Sybil's strange mood. It had been a bold and somewhat personal question but he'd figured that, in this stage of their relationship, she was more than likely to open up to him if there had been a problem. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry," he says. "As your friend, I'm concerned that you haven't been yourself these past few days. As a doctor, that was the first logical conclusion I jumped to. Are you sure you're alright though?"

"I'm fine," she lies, forcing a smile. "It's just that I think I'll scream if I have one more member of my family contact me to ask what flowers I'd like or if I've scheduled another appointment to have my dress fitted. Do you know that my grandmother actually telephoned the hospital last week to ask me if Edgar and I had discussed any hymns for the church service?"

Iestyn chuckles. "I had heard, yes," he says. "And I daresay that everyone in this building is now ever so slightly terrified of incurring the wrath of the Dowager Countess of Grantham should we ever again have to tell her that you're busy."

"I was in surgery for crying out loud," laughs Sybil. "What did she think I was going to do? Ask Sir Edward if I could be excused?"

"I don't think he would have taken that too kindly to that," her friend agrees. "Especially not when he'll be one of the ones with whom the final decision lies as to whether or not you're going to be allowed to stay after you're married."

"Ahhh... about that."

"They've made a decision?"

Sybil shakes her head. "Not quite... though, I have," she tells him. "Edgar and I, that is. I won't be staying after the wedding, regardless of what the board say. We're going to America."

"America?"

"Edgar's going back into practice in Chicago."

"But what about you? Is it what you want?"

She sighs and shakes her head. "I'm not sure what I want, but what I do know is that I'm ready for another adventure."

Iestyn smiles weakly at his friend and places a hand on her arm. "I'll miss you."

"I said as much to Mary when she told me that she was going to New York," Sybil tells him. "Though I find myself writing to her more than I ever did before."

"How is your sister? Will she be coming back for the wedding."  
"Yes, and my grandmother's coming with her," she says with a smile. "I'm excited to see them both, especially Grandmama. I was only a small girl the last time she came to visit."

Placing the last of the bandages in the right box, Iestyn straightens his suit and smoothes down his hair, ready to assume his professional mantle once more. "Well, as long as you promise to write to me and come to visit whenever you can, I think we'll be just fine."

"That we will," Sybil agrees, gasping as she notices the time on the clock. "Heavens, I didn't realise that was the time! My shift finished ten minutes ago and I'm going to be late!" Without another word to Iestyn, she pulls off her cap and hastily makes her way down the hallway. She has a very important meeting to get to and, if she isn't careful, she's going to miss it entirely.

**_-xxx-_**

Slightly out of breath, she arrives at the arranged place a little later than she would have liked and scans the crowded room for any sight of a certain person. Spotting them after a minute or two, she gives a slight wave and makes her way towards the table.

"You came."

"Of course I did, I'm sorry I'm late," she apologises. "I've been rather busy."

"It's alright, I understand," her companion says. "I ordered us some tea, it should be here soon."

Sybil smiles. "Thank you, you have no idea how much I'm in need of a cup right now... oh, Gwen, you're absolutely glowing."

Gwen Dawson, or Darcy as she is now ("_I've found my very own Mr Darcy, can you believe it?!_" she'd told Sybil when she'd written to tell her friend of her engagement), is seven months pregnant and, in Sybil's opinion, has never looked more beautiful. As she'd told Tom all those years ago, Gwen had been a housemaid at Downton and the pair had formed a very close bond as they'd strived to help Gwen achieve her dream of becoming a secretary. While Sybil had been glad that those dreams had come true, she'd also been very sad to lose the person who had perhaps been her only friend at the time. Saying that though, the pair had continued to write to one another in the years since and, when Gwen had mentioned that she and her husband would be in the capital for several days, Sybil had jumped at the chance for the two of them to meet again.

"The years have been kind to you too, mila... Sybil." The name feels unusual on Gwen's tongue and, while she has long been Sybil in their letters, addressing her as she had done in the days gone by is a difficult habit to break. "You're a blushing bride to be!"

Sybil laughs. "Oh I don't know about blushing," she says. "Though Edgar does make me very happy."

"I'm glad to hear it, especially after... oh, never mind."

"Gwen?"

Gwen shakes her head. "No, I've spoken out of turn."

Sybil reaches out across the table and gives her hand a squeeze. "Oh my dear friend, surely you know by now that you can say anything at all to me? Besides, you aren't in service anymore... we are equals, you and I."

Her friend laughs - she's not sure that most people would see this as a relationship of equality, but she's always known that Lady Sybil's heart is pure and her mind open. To her, equality is measured on so much more than social standing. "I was just going to say that, after everything that happened with your Mr Branson, I'm so glad to see you happy."

Sybil swallows hard and fidgets nervously with the napkin on the table in front of her. "That's just the thing... do you remember how I wrote to you after I'd received that letter from the War Office? How I told you that Tom was... that he... that he'd been killed?"

Gwen nods. "I don't think I could forget it," she tells her - she'd felt for her friend in those dark moments as she'd read the letter over and over again, wishing that she could have just gone to London and offered even just the slightest bit of comfort. It was the least she could have done, especially in light of everything that Lady Sybil had done for **her**.

"He's alive," she says. "I saw him a couple of nights ago and I just felt... well, I don't know how I felt. I felt angry and hurt that I didn't know, that he hadn't bothered to tell me that there had been some sort of terrible misunderstanding and apologise for the absolute... **hell** that he put me through. At the same time, I wanted to run to him and kiss him, just to make sure that it was real and that it wasn't my mind playing tricks on me. I'm sorry for burdening you with my troubles, that's not what I intended for today at all and I'm sure you've got enough to be dealing with, what with the baby and everything. I just need to confide in somebody before I burst... oh Gwen, I don't know what to do."

Gwen stares back at her friend sympathetically - it had been clear from her letters just how much she had loved this Mr Branson and, in a way, it had almost felt as though Gwen had also known him and the news of his death had saddened her as though she too had lost a very dear friend. "Have you spoken to him at all?"

Sybil shakes her head. "Not properly at least... I was rather angry with him and to say that many would be scandalised by some of the words I chose to use when I shouted at him is perhaps a bit of an understatement. I was just so... shocked... so shocked that it manifested itself as anger and I wouldn't be surprised if he never wished to see me again," she says mournfully. "Why, do you think I should speak to him?"

"A very long time ago, a wise person once told me that I should follow my heart," says Gwen, stroking her belly as her baby flips and kicks. "Because at least then I'd know that I was making a decision based on what **I **wanted to do and not what other people were telling me to do. So that's what I think you should do... I think you should follow your heart."

Sybil smiles as she pours them both a cup of tea. "That is very wise," she says. "Who was it that gave you that advice? I'll have to find them and thank them."

Gwen beams back at her. "It was you, milady."

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil lives in a modest little flat close to the hospital where she works. Once again, at her father's insistence, she had spent the first few months living with her aunt just as she had done during the war but, the more she'd worked and the more money she'd earned, she had found that she'd been able to afford the flat that had once belonged to one of the doctors who needed to end his tenancy after accepting a job at the Alder Hey children's hospital in Liverpool. Her family had disapproved at first, but she'd secretly learnt enough about being self-sufficient and running her own home from Isobel and the servants both at Downton and in London for them to be convinced that she knew what she was doing. It afforded her a freedom like nothing else had before and the flat was her own little place of escapism. She'd chosen everything herself - from the linens in the bedroom to the books filling the shelf in the corner by the window. It had been difficult at first and she wasn't afraid to admit it but, once she'd settled into her own routine, she found that it was rather enjoyable. After the wedding, she and Edgar would be honeymooning in Italy and Greece for a month before returning to spend some time at Downton whilst renovations were carried out on his Chelsea townhouse. After that, they would start enquiring about places to live in Chicago and making plans for their move to America. In a way, it would be strange to live with another person after all this time alone because living with a husband, she imagined, would be far different to living with her family. It hadn't really been something that she had thought of when engaged to Tom because they were far too busy just living in the moment - as most young couples had done during the war - for them to have made any serious plans as to what to do when they were married. They had always said that they would go to Ireland, but that was as far as they had got.

She's just about finished washing up the plates and pans from dinner when there's a knock at the door, furrowing her brow as she looks up at the clock on the wall - it's late and she hasn't been expecting anyone. She wonders for a moment if it could be Mrs Stone who lives in the flat downstairs as her youngest little girl had developed quite a nasty cold over the past few days and Sybil had gladly offered to have a look at the baby should she get any worse - it was the least she could do after the Stone family had invited her to dinner on several occasions for fear that she was getting lonely (which she wasn't, but it was such a kind gesture that Sybil hadn't been able to find it in her heart to decline).

However, it isn't Mrs Stone...

It's Tom.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, removing his hat - a smart fedora that's the very cutting edge of men's fashion. "I didn't mean to disturb you so late but I was just walking and I thought that... I thought that maybe we should talk."

Sybil grips the door tightly, her short fingernails biting into the wood. "How do you know where I live?"

"I'm a journalist," he says with that charming, boyish smile that would once have made her go weak at the knees. "It's my job to find things out."

"I'm being serious, Tom."

"Sorry, again... I know. Mr Hewitt mentioned where you worked when I was speaking to him the other night. I went to the hospital when I knew you weren't going to be there because, again, he'd told me that the two of you were going to have tea with his mother. I told them that I had an urgent delivery for you and asked where else I could take it to."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "You posed as a postman so you could find out where I live?"

"I've done a lot of investigative journalism," he says. "When you're undercover, one becomes rather good at lying."

She lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that's almost as alien to his ears as the hatred that had spewed out of her mouth at the Blue Dragon the other night. "Well, you've certainly got that right," she says bitterly.

"Sybil?"

"I suppose you'd better come in, I don't think this is a conversation I want my neighbours privy to."

He follows her inside the flat, closing the door and watches her as she flits about whilst he removes his coat - she's so at home here and it pains him to think that this is a sight he could have been greeted with every night upon his return from work if things had turned out differently.

"I'd offer you tea but I think you and I could both use something a little stronger, don't you?" she asks as she pulls a dusty bottle of whisky out from the cupboard under the sink. Her friends had taken it upon themselves to invite themselves round for the evening when she'd first moved into the flat, bringing with them an assortment of alcohol bottles and not much else. This was one of the few that had remained afterwards and she'd barely touched it since. "Sit down anywhere you like."

Deciding that the kitchen table is probably the safest (on account of the fact that they can sit at opposite ends as far away from each other as possible), he drapes his coat over the back of the chair and sits down, tapping his fingers on the tabletop as he waits for her to join him - it was a nervous twitch that he'd developed during his time in Germany, the psychological scars of his ordeal remaining long after the physical ones had faded.

"I have some explaining to do, don't I?"

Sybil nods. "Do you have any idea what you put me through?" she asks. "How much I cried for you and how I thought that I couldn't possibly live without you? The day I received that letter was the day my life ended..."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, staring into his glass. "I thought you'd understand."

"Understand?" she asks, her voice slightly raised. "I thought you were dead!"

"Who told you that?"

"The War Office."

Tom groans and runs a hand through his hair. "They weren't supposed to tell you," he says to nobody in particular. "I left strict instruction that you weren't to be told by them..."

"Tom, you aren't making any sense."

He takes a sip of whisky, wincing as the amber liquid burns his throat. "After I wrote you that letter, Jimmy and I agreed that he would tell you if anything happened to me and I'd tell his girl, Mabel. We thought it for the best because we both knew that the two of you deserved better than some anonymous, generic telegram."

"Which letter?"

"The last one I ever wrote to you," he says, his grip on the glass tightening, "The one that broke my heart to write but I thought that I needed to be cruel to be kind. Surely you know which one I'm talking about?"

Sybil shakes her head. "The last letter I received from you, we spoke of..." she blushes furiously as she recalls some of the more risqué things they'd written to each other, stemmed from the nights they'd spent recreating some of the rather scandalous stories in those books of her uncle's. "We spoke of our lovemaking, though I think that's probably a much politer term for the things you described to me in that letter."  
A wistful smile graces Tom's lips as he remembers that time they'd shared together but it soon fades when he realises what's happened. "So you never got the letter where I... where I broke off our engagement?"

"You did **what**?"

"I'm sorry," he apologises quickly, losing count now of how many times he's already done that since she first opened the door to him. "It was never meant to be on a permanent basis, just until the end of the war. I couldn't bear to think of what all that waiting and not knowing whether or not we were ever going to see each other again must have done to you. I wanted you to be happy, to have a chance at living the life you deserved. I asked you to wait for me, though I told you that you should follow your heart and fall in love again if someone came into your life. When I saw that you were engaged, I thought that's what had happened and it broke my heart because I thought you loved me enough to have stayed true to me... just like you promised you would on our wedding day."

Silent tears spill down Sybil's cheeks and she can't bring herself to look at him. "I would have done," she says in little more than a whisper. "I would have waited... but I didn't get that letter, Tom. I thought you were dead."

Tom knocks back the rest of his drink, reaching for the bottle and tops up his glass. He tries to pour more into Sybil's but she stops him by putting her hand over the top of it. "That makes more sense."

"Does it though?" she asks, getting to her feet and walking away from him. "Because I'm still completely lost. You said that you only intended to break things off between us until the end of the war. The war ended well over a year ago, so where were you?"

"I..."

"WHERE WERE YOU?!" she yells, unable to restrain herself any longer. "I waited for you. I cried over you day and night for months. WE HAD A CHILD, TOM!"

His jaw drops then and he honestly can't believe what he's hearing. "We... when?"

"Weeks after I was told you'd been killed," she sniffs. "I found out that I was pregnant but... but then..." the dam breaks then and she gives herself over to the emotions that have been building up inside of her. It takes Tom a moment to understand just what she's alluding to but, once he does, he crosses the room and pulls her into his arms, her body heavy as she sobs. "I needed you, Tom. I needed you and you weren't there. I've never known pain like it... together with my heartbreak, I thought I was going to die and, for the briefest moment, I almost wanted to. But that was selfish and so I fought back... I fought back because I knew that's what you'd want me to do. Where were you, Tom? Where were you?"

He holds her so impossibly tight, kissing the top of her head tenderly as he feels just a little bit of her pain (because, as a man, he could never possibly fully comprehend the suffering that she must have been through). Now isn't the time to tell her about Germany, he decides, and so he decides to start with what happened in Dublin. "I went to America," he says. "I promised you that I'd make something of myself and that's what I needed to do to prove that I deserved you."

This time, it's Sybil's turn to be shocked. "You... you honestly thought that I cared about all that? I though you knew me better, Tom."

He steps back from her for a moment and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I saw things... I did things and had things done to me that... well, they made me a different man. I wasn't in my right mind and I did what I thought I had to. I see now that I was wrong."

"You stupid, foolish, idiotic man!" she cries. She wants to slap him or pound her fists against his chest, hurting him and making him cry just as he had done to her but, as she looks into his eyes at last and sees all the love he's ever felt for her deep within them, she can't bring herself to do it.

It isn't clear who moves first but, the next thing they know, their lips are glued together in a passionate kiss that hurts both of them more than any physical attack ever could...


	19. The Beginning of the End

_**I'm so sorry that this chapter is so long, but it's the penultimate one (well, there's an epilogue too) and everything is really beginning to come to a head before we wrap it up. I've also decided to up the rating to M because it seems more appropriate what with the sexytimes we've had before. Thank you all so, so much for your responses to the last chapter and for your continued support. I hope you'll be able to understand why this story is going to end the way that it does (but we'll worry about that next time) because this really has been the most incredible journey for both myself and these characters. Anyway, I'll stop babbling now and get on with the story. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

* * *

_"I love her, and that's the beginning and end of everything_."

_**F Scott Fitzgerald**_

They know it's wrong, they know that it's forbidden - but she his life force, his very reason for living and he is her opium, a powerful addiction she cannot and will not give up. She's getting married in just over a week and yet here they are, kissing and touching, moaning and sighing in delight just as they had done back when they were young and naive and the seeds sewn during a summer romance were just beginning to bloom. They've both been through so much since then - both of them have gone through so much since then, both good and bad, and they've risen from the ashes stronger than ever before. He sweeps her up into his arms, her own wrapping around his neck as he carries her into her small bedroom. He sets her down on her feet and she feels a little unsteady at first as her emotions begin to overwhelm her. Gently caressing her cheek, Tom leans in and peppers feather light kisses all over her face - her forehead, her nose and then, finally, her lips. She drapes her own arms around his neck again, holding him so impossibly close to her as the kiss deepens. Her mouth opens and she yields to him, feeling like that innocent teenage girl who hadn't so much as held hands with a man before she met him. That's exactly how this feels - it feels like that very first time again and, in a way, it almost is. They're very different people now, both having been shaped and moulded by the war, and it's these people that they're discovering now.

The usually freezing cold room suddenly feels swelteringly warm and she pulls back from him for a moment, gasping for breath as she rests her hands on his shoulders, his own caressing her hips and sides, stopping just short of the underside of her breasts before moving back again. Together, they somehow manage to get him out of his jacket and, as Sybil starts working on removing his tie, he unbuttons her blouse. They continue with this game, touching and teasing until all that remains between them are the thin layers of their undergarments. With a gentle tug on his hand, Tom follows her over to the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist as they tumble down onto the mattress. Kissing and nipping, licking and sucking, they begin to rediscover each other's bodies, each becoming completely absorbed in the other like one would upon coming back to a favourite book.

A shiver of delight runs down her spine as he moves to take off her stockings, kissing each bit of newly exposed skin as he rolls them down her slender legs. Next come her knickers though, before he does, he gazes up at her lovingly and she nods in consent - no words need be spoken anymore, for words will only ruin this moment and they have a lifetime ahead of them to talk. She arches her back up off the mattress, gasping in delight as his fingers deliberately brush against her aching core. His hands are softer than she remembers - these are the hands of a writer and a gentleman now, not a mechanic or a soldier. It's a thought that saddens her slightly because she knows that he isn't that same man who swept her off her feet during a dance in a country pub all those years ago but, then again, she supposes that she's no longer that girl either. She is a woman now - a woman with sexual needs and desires same as any man and oh how she aches for him. Settling back against the pillows, she reaches down and threads her fingers through his hair, surrendering herself to the pleasure that only he has ever given her before.

Much like that first time he knows that, after everything they've been through and how long they've waited for this, it would be easy just to give in to his innermost desires and give them both exactly what they're craving. Just as he had done all those years ago though, he decides to take it slowly, savouring every second of this most intimate of acts. With the tip of his index finger, he teases her dripping slit before eventually adding his middle finger and circles her throbbing clitoris. He smiles against her thigh, chucking as she sighs his name like a prayer whispered to the heavens when he slides his fingers inside of her. She pushes her hips upward, begging him for more as she starts to come against his hand. All it takes is for him to brush his thumb over her nub and she shatters. Catching her breath, Sybil reaches down to the hem of her ivory chemise and, with a bit of wriggling around, removes it before tossing it aside into the pile of the rest of their clothing scattered across her bedroom floor. Following her lead, Tom removes the last of his own underwear and, at last, they're fully naked.

Deciding that it's her turn, she pushes him down so that he's lying flat on his back and moves close enough to kiss his hard length. Gently, she takes him in her hand and strokes him with a tender touch - once, twice, three times before darting out her tongue to lick the drop of pre-cum from the tip of his cock. Turning her attention to his shaft and balls, she licks and kisses him before coming back to the head again, swirling her tongue around it and making him groan and writhe in ecstasy. He knows that she would gladly carry on if he let her but, with an overwhelming need to be with her wholly and completely, he pushes her away and lifts up his arm, encouraging her to cuddle up to him for a moment. She happily obliges and it isn't long before they're kissing again. This isn't the same passionate, heated kiss that has fuelled so much of this somewhat illicit encounter thus far, but it's loving and tender and it almost seems like they've already forgotten that there's a world that exists beyond the confines of these four walls and the sanctuary that they've found in the comfort of each other's arms.

She spreads her legs wide as he moves between them again and shivers with anticipation as she feels the tip of his prick rubbing against her sensitive clitoris. His lips crash down upon hers as he sheathes himself inside of her. She wraps her legs around his middle, thrusting her hips to meet his as they fall back into an old and familiar rhythm. Her fingernails bite into the flesh of his shoulders, almost as though she subconsciously remembers her earlier desire to hurt him. With a strength that she didn't know she possessed, she manages to flip their positions so that now he's the one on his back with her towering above him. She had always enjoyed making love like this every once in a while, feeling empowered by the boldness of the act and the power that it gave her over him. She leans forward enough for him to be able to touch her breasts, his hands massaging the soft flesh and his lips sucking on her pert nipples as she rides him.

They move together, thrusting harder and faster and she has to reach out and grab the cold metal frame of the bed behind him to stop her collapsing on top of him as the intensity of the pleasure becomes too much. He cries her name, his grip on her hips tightening as he comes deep inside of her and it's enough to bring her over the edge with him. Basking in that post-orgasmic haze, she snuggles up against his chest and smiles as he kisses the top of her head. She can hear his heart pounding, feel his heavy breathing and, for the first time, it hits her that he really is still alive.

"Germany," he mutters against the skin of her shoulder as they lie spooned and entwined together in the darkness. "That's where I was... for a time at least."

Sybil furrows her brow. "Why were you in Ger... oh, oh I see."

"Please don't ask me about it," he says. "I don't think I could talk about it even if I wanted to. Though, what I can say is that some days were better than others. Some days they asked me questions that I didn't know the answers to... when they didn't believe me, they'd hurt me again and again. I became the shell of the man I once was and that's why I didn't come back... it's why I never said anything because neither you nor my family would have recognised me. I had to find myself again, find some hope, before I came home." He yawns and takes hold of her hand. "When I did come back and found out that you'd moved on, I realised what I fool I'd been."

A sudden and overwhelming sense of guilt takes hold of Sybil as she realises what they've just done. "This can't happen again, Tom," she whispers tearfully but, from the sound of his gentle snores, she knows that he hasn't heard her and the only thing she can do is cry herself to sleep.

_**-xxx-**_

As she watches the car pull up outside the grand house, Sybil almost feels like that small child again who had excitably leapt into her father's arms when he'd returned home from the war in Africa. The second she sees an elegant leather clad hand extend out from inside the motor to accept Pratt's assistance, she wants to become that little girl once more and run into Mary's embrace. It may have only been just under twelve weeks since she left, but Sybil has missed her sister dearly and she's so glad that she's home at last. What is even more exciting is the fact that her grandmama has also made the trip across the Atlantic to see her youngest granddaughter married. All her life, people had always commented on how much more of a Levinson Sybil was than a Crawley. From Violet in particular, there had been the odd comment here and there about how similar she and Martha (or "that woman" as the older woman preferred to call her) - she hadn't understood at the time but, as she'd gotten older, Sybil had realised that her grandmama was very much a woman ahead of her time. She was a woman with whom (through letters, of course) she could find herself discussing the things that really mattered in the world. It had been Martha who had always encouraged Sybil to stick to her principles but to be mindful of those of others whether she agreed with them or not, who told her to never stop learning and to explore the world beyond the confines of her gilded cage. Her paternal grandfather, Joseph Levinson, had come from a working family and was a self-made man - he and Martha had been childhood sweethearts and so they'd experienced firsthand what life could be like for the less fortunate. They'd taught their children, Cora and her brother Harold, and their three granddaughters after them to count their blessings and realise just how lucky they were. Of all of them, Sybil seemed to have been the one to take that lesson to heart the most and now here she was, having gone off to London and begun living on her own two feet.

"Darling Sybil," Martha beams as she takes the youngest's face into her hands. "You've grown so much since the last time I saw you... and so beautiful. You're Mr Hewitt's a lucky man. Oh and Edith, dear Edith, I'm going to say this once and once only because I'm sure you've heard it from everybody else already, your time will come. Though just be sure that, when it does, you find somebody more like Sybil's beau than Mary's odious Sir Richard."

The younger two Crawley sisters can't help but laugh - they've always admired their grandmama's trait of being incredibly blunt and how it would make Granny squirm.

"Yes, thank you for that, Grandmamma," says Mary as she comes up behind the elderly woman. "Let's not speak of the past though, shall we, these next few days are all about Sybil's future."

"I've missed you," says Sybil, accepting a hug from Mary. "So very much."

Mary smiles. "And I you... both of you, believe it or not."

"Glad to be home?" asks Edith as they make their way inside the house.

"Yes, very much so," replies her sister. "While I've missed you two since the day I left, I hadn't realised just how much I'd missed Downton until we reached Southampton. It was a strange feeling."

"There's tea in the library," Sybil says, changing the subject entirely. "And then Mama's made sure that your old room was made up just the way you left it. You can rest before dinner which shouldn't be too taxing, there aren't that many of us tonight..." she goes quiet then when she realises that her sisters are looking at her with befuddlement at her detailing the plans for the evening like some sort of military operation. "Sorry," she apologises with a giggle. "I'm used to doing everything according to a strict timetable and one doesn't work under the command of a matron for all this time without being able to know how to dish out orders every once in a while."

Mary laughs and squeezes her little sister's arm. She's about to ask whether or not their cousins were coming up from the village when Edith answers the question for her. "Isobel won't be here tonight but she says that she'll see you tomorrow. Matthew's coming back from Manchester in the morning so they'll both come up together."

"Matthew's in Manchester?" she asks with a furrowed brow.

Sybil scowls at Edith - they'd agreed that that was news to be shared at the right moment and this was neither the time nor the place for it. "He left about a week or so after you did," she says. "His old firm were desperate to have him back, apparently. So Isobel says anyway."

Mary nods - she's actually rather glad that he'd made that decision for it had been her worst fear that he would spend his days pining for her to return.

"He asks about you all the time though," Edith adds. "And he's looking forward to seeing you."

"Yes," she says quietly, that old familiar fluttering sensation returning to her stomach once more at the very thought of him. "Yes I daresay I'm looking forward to seeing him again too."

_**-xxx-**_

Just as Sybil had promised, dinner was a relatively quiet affair with Martha on more than one occasion declaring how utterly charming she thought Edgar to be. They two had clicked right away and the three sisters had delighted in seeing the look of utter horror on Violet's face as their mother's accent became noticeably stronger in the presence of her fellow Americans.

"You're best man was at Yale with you, yes?" asks Martha between courses.

Edgar nods. "Yes ma'am," he replies. "Harry and I go right back to our Freshman year. We rowed together for a time and we've been close ever since. He's in London at the moment on business so it just seemed fitting for me to ask him. He'll be coming up here with a friend of his the day after tomorrow... tell me, Mrs Levinson, do you read the New York Tribune?"

"I do, actually. Sybil tells me that Mr Peterson is the heir to the Peterson empire."

"That's true," Edgar confirms. "Then you might be familiar with the work of said friend, his name is Tom Branson and one of the finest political writers I've ever come across. He'll certainly make for interesting conversation, that's for sure."

Sybil accidentally drops her fork on the table at the mention of Tom's name and she looks up to see her entire family staring at her like she's gone stark raving mad. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I'm having one of my clumsy moments." She had absolutely no idea that Tom would be coming to the wedding - when she'd kissed him goodbye after they'd spent the night together, she had presumed that it would be a very long time before she saw him next. She had thought that she would be a married woman by then and her sacred vows would bind her to her husband, stopping her from straying into the arms of her first love once more.

"My letter?" Mary mouths to her from across the table once everybody else is engaged in conversation again.

Sybil nods as she takes a sip of her wine, wanting nothing more to run up to her bedroom and scream.

As the ladies leave for the drawing room, leaving Robert and Edgar alone to share a cigar and a brandy, Mary grabs hold of Sybil's arm and pulls her back from the others. "You already knew, didn't you?" she asks. "Before I wrote to you."

"We met in London a couple of nights before I received your letter," she tells her. "To say that I was more than just a little bit surprised is perhaps a bit of an understatement."

"And not once did he try to tell you that he was alive?"

Sybil shakes her head. "No," she replies. "Though, from what he tells me, it was complicated. Very complicated and I still don't think I have the full story... he's not the same man that he was, that much is obvious. The war has changed him far more than I realised at the time."

"Sybil, are you alright?" Edith asks, catching sight of her sister's paler than usual complexion as she waits for both her and Mary by the door of the drawing room. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"If you mean apart from the fact that my former fiancé, whom I've spent almost two years believing was dead, is very much alive and is going to be accompanying my current fiancé's best man to my wedding then I'd say I'm feeling absolutely wonderful."

Edith raises her eyebrows questioningly at Mary as Sybil puts on her best smile and goes to join her mother and grandmother. "What was all that about?"

"Tom's alive," says Mary. "And he's coming to Downton."

_**-xxx-**_

The man in question lies on his bed in his childhood home back in Dublin, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and collar open as he scribbles down his thoughts for his next article for the Tribune. There's a gentle knock at the door and he quickly glances over at the clock, smiling as he knows exactly who this will be. Just as she had done when he was a boy and whenever he'd come home from France during those gruesome years he'd spent at war, Aileen brings her youngest son a cup of tea and a biscuit at the same time every night before bed.

"You really don't need to keep doing this you know," he smirks, sitting up and setting down his pen. "But thank you anyway."

Aileen smiles fondly at the devastatingly handsome man before her. America has changed him and he looks far healthier than she's seen him look for a long time - a little thin still, perhaps, but that's nothing a few good meals while he's home won't solve - the cut of his suit is sharper, he wears his hair in the latest style and he smokes a brand of cigarette that she knows cost a bob or two.

"I do it for all of you whenever I have you back," she says. "It's a mother's instinct... something that Órlaith will learn about soon enough."

"Mam?"

"Your sister's pregnant," Aileen tells him and the smile on his face warms her heart. "I received her letter in the evening post."

Tom laughs in delight. "That's brilliant," he says. "Wonderful in fact. I will write to her soon, but just give her my love when you reply."

"I will," his mother says.

"I'll have to see if I can go up to Canada to see them the next time I'm over in America," says Tom. "We've been writing but I haven't seen her since she married Freddie. They sound happy."

They are," Aileen replies with a smile. "Very happy. You seem so too... my God, Tommy, just look at you. You really did make something of yourself. You're an acclaimed writer and you're mixing with the great and the good of New York. When are you leaving for this wedding in Yorkshire?"

"I'm getting the ferry back to Liverpool tomorrow morning," he tells her, running a hand through his hair before falling uncharacteristically quiet. "Mam... it's Sybil's wedding."

"What?" she asks in disbelief, sitting down on the edge of his bed and placing a hand on his leg. "As in your Lady Sybil?"

"As in Lady Sybil... but she's not mine anymore," he says with a weary sigh. "She's marrying some well to do lawyer from Chicago and that's that. It's my own stupid fault for not coming home sooner."  
Aileen furrows her brow. "It's obvious you still love her, Tommy, but have you actually asked her not to marry him?"

Tom ponders this thought for a moment - yes, they'd spent the night together, but he hadn't actually asked anything of her. If anything, it had felt like closure for both of them. "No, but I see her with him and she's so... happy. What kind of monster would I be to take all that away from her by being even more selfish than I already have been?"

His mother looks at her son with a mixture of pity and sympathy, not quite sure what she can say to ease his heartbreak (for that is the one ailment that even a mother cannot heal). "When you... when they told me that you'd been killed, they sent me some of your personal possessions. There was a letter that you'd written to her in them, but there was no address on the envelope so I didn't know where to send it."

"A letter?" he asks, perking up slightly. "Do you still have it?"

Aileen nods. "Yes, it's in a box on the top of my wardrobe," she says. "I didn't have the heart to get rid of it."

"I need that letter," he says. "I need to take it with me. She... she needs to understand."

"Tommy?"

He kisses his mother's cheek. "It's fine," he says. "Honestly."

She knows when her son is lying and she can see that his heart has been well and truly shattered by these recent events. She just hopes that he finally gets the happiness that he deserves.

**_-xxx-_**

He hates this. At least in the darkness of a club, he can blend in and remain hidden when he feels out of his depth but here it's different - he doesn't belong here, in these ancient halls and seated at the table of the Earl of Grantham. He can't stop staring Sybil - she looks so breathtakingly beautiful in a blue gown that matches her eyes and diamonds clasped around her wrist and in her ears. She's an absolute goddess and he envies the way that Edgar is allowed to look at her as such in public. What bothers him most, however, is the way that her father keeps looking at **him** and Tom can't help but wonder whether or not he's trying to recall where he knows him from. He's certain that he'll be tossed out into the night when the Earl figures out that he was the man who attempted to defile his baby girl in a ramshackle cottage on an Irish country estate all those years ago. An awkward silence lingers around the table, thankfully broken by Harry when he strikes up conversation with Edith.

"Lady Edith," he says. "You wouldn't happen to be the same Edith Crawley whose letter I had the pleasure of reading in the Times recently?"

Edith blushes slightly at his complement. "I am," she replies with a smile.

"It's not the sort of thing that Tom and I are looking into publishing right at this moment in time, but there is someone else who's interested. Isn't that right, Tom?"

"Beg pardon?" Tom asks, having been completely lost in a world of his own. "Oh... yes, I'm not sure if you've heard of him but his name is Michael Gregson. He said that he would be very interested in meeting you at some point to discuss further contributions."

Robert cuts in with a shake of his head. "I don't think this is an entirely appropriate conversation for the dinner table."

"Why not?" Sybil pipes up. "I think Edith's wonderfully talented and I'm delighted that other people think so too."

"And I suppose you agree with her opinions as well?" asks Violet.

"Well of course I do," she replies. "But I know your feelings on the matter... what was it you said all those years ago? A woman isn't entitled to an opinion until she is married... then her husband will tell her what her opinions are?" She meets Tom's eyes at last then, a triumphant smile upon her face and he has to hide his smirk behind his wine glass.

"_As your husband_," he thinks to himself. "_I'd tell you that your opinions were to be whatever you wanted them to be_."

"So, Edgar," she says, turning to her fiancé. "Since I'm to be your wife the day after tomorrow, what are my opinions to be?"

Edgar chuckles. "I couldn't control what goes on in that head of yours and the things you say even if I wanted to."

The rest of the table laughs, but not Tom - Tom's heart breaks just that little bit more because it's blatantly obvious, to him at least, that Edgar doesn't understand Sybil in the slightest.

"So tell me, Mr Branson," Matthew asks from his place seated beside Mary. "What was it you did before the war?"

"I was in service, actually," he replies a little hesitantly. Despite having liked Matthew from the moment he'd met him, he's a little reluctant to detail his past life given the way that his last encounter with the Earl had ended. "I apprenticed as a mechanic with a friend of my father's before becoming a chauffeur for a family in Ireland." He swallows hard as he notices Robert subtly glance at Sybil, who has suddenly felt the need to take a rather large drink of wine, and then back to him with a look of recognition on his face. He just hopes that the good lord has the decency to spare him the embarrassment of a confrontation over the fish course. What he doesn't see, however, is the questioning stare that Sybil is getting from her mother and the slight shake of her head in reply.

"You seem to have had more lives than a Buddhist cat," Violet quips which even Tom has to laugh at.

"And there's more left in me yet," he replies with a smile even though, at this moment in time, a life without Sybil doesn't seem like any sort of life at all.

**_-xxx-_**

He's a little startled to see that there's somebody already in his room when he returns upstairs - standing there, with one of his shirts draped over his arm, is none other than Thomas Barrow.

"So it is true," says Thomas. "You are alive."

Tom furrows his brow as he steps further into the room, not entirely sure how he's supposed to react in this situation. "Small world... though, why are you in my room?"

"Just following orders, **sir**," Thomas replies, also a little uncertain about being reunited with his former comrade - it's not every day that one comes face to face with a ghost after all.

Tom picks up the book that's on his bedside table and quickly flicks through the pages - it's one he's read a thousand times before and there's the temptation of a stunning library from which he'd been granted permission to make use of during his stay waiting for him downstairs. Perhaps if he excused himself and went in search of something else to read, he could avoid having this conversation. "You don't need to call me sir," he says. "And I certainly don't need a valet or whatever it is that you are these days."

"Good," replies Thomas sternly, a hint of that old disdain for the Irishman coming to the forefront once more. "Because I most certainly don't want to have to play valet to the likes of you."

Tom's lips curl up into a smile and he can't help but laugh as Thomas drops the shirt back onto the chair he'd retrieved it from. "Of all the people I thought I'd see again after making it back, you definitely weren't one of them."

"I'm back skivvying and here you are waltzing round like the lord of the manor."

"Hardly... I have friends in high places," says Tom. "To be honest, I could do without it all. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be in the library."

"I never did get the chance to thank you, you know," Thomas says just as Tom's about to leave. "I'd probably have more than just a bloody big hole in my hand if it weren't for you... actually, I'd probably be dead so... thank you."

"I promise not to tell anybody that you just said that," Tom says with a smirk, knowing that this softer side of Thomas isn't one that makes itself known very often. "You have a reputation to uphold."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, not many people have been good to me in my life and Lady Sybil is one of them," he replies. "I wish I'd known that you weren't really dead when I made sure that that telegram was sent to her because..."  
"It was you?" Tom interrupts. "You were the one who sent the telegram? But, Jimmy and I..."

"Jimmy was dead too," says Thomas. "Took a bullet to the throat that same day. Nasty way to go, but I did what I thought best... you never sent that letter to her either."

Tom sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I realise that now," he says. "I was so convinced that I had though you probably know better than I do just how much that place messed with your head. I'm still completely in love with her and it's all my fault that he's the one she's marrying and not me." He's not sure why he's confessing this to Thomas Barrow of all people but it's an old habit from the trenches that they would sit and listen to each other in the dark of the night when the bullets and the bombs would cease and that eerie silence provided them with the time to delve into the deepest, most tormented recesses of their minds.

"That may be," says Thomas. "But if you do anything to hurt or upset her, I'll have his lordship's dog tear off your testicles, understood?"

"Yes sir," Tom says mockingly with a half-hearted salute to the former sergeant. "Though, believe me, I don't think there are many people who want to see her happy more than I do."

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil lies on the sofa in the library, curled into Edgar's side as she reads. She's fighting sleep but she's so absorbed in the story that she's not ready to give up just yet.

Edgar chuckles and kisses her temple as her eyes droop again, using her moment of weakness to his advantage and removing the book from her hands. "I'm going to end up carrying you upstairs in a minute."

"No you won't," she replies, shaking her head and yawning. "You wouldn't want to cause a scandal two days before our wedding."

"Actually, it's past midnight so our wedding is technically tomorrow," he says with a cheeky grin. "And, after tomorrow, I can do whatever I please and nobody will bat an eyelid."

"I might, if you're only going to do what **you** want."

He laughs and Sybil isn't sure whether or not he's realised that she's being absolutely serious, but she's quickly distracted from her thoughts on that matter when he starts kissing her neck. She sighs and leans into him, seeking out his lips with her own and making the most of the fact that this is one of the few moments they've actually been alone together since they arrived in Yorkshire. She gasps as his hand caress and cup her breasts, the other sliding up her thigh and underneath her dress.

"Edgar," she says breathlessly. "Stop... we said we were going to do this properly. We've come this far and..."

"I know," he sighs. "But it's just so hard. I love you and I can't wait to show you how much."

"Me too," she agrees, leaning up to kiss him once more but the two of them spring back when the door to the library opens and their solitude is disturbed.

"Sorry," a familiar Irish lilted voice says. "I didn't think anyone would be up."

Edgar helps Sybil up to her feet and she smoothes down her dress, being careful to look anywhere but into Tom's eyes. "It's alright," Edgar says. "I was just about to go to bed."

"As was I," Sybil adds and Tom looks away as she and Edgar share a goodnight kiss. His eyes are back on her once the American has left the room and she walks towards the shelves to return the book she'd been reading to its rightful place. "Couldn't sleep?" she asks in an attempt to diffuse the obvious tension between them - she hasn't really had the chance to speak to him properly since his arrival and, truth be told, it's a little strange to see him here in the house she grew up in.

Tom shakes his head. "No, I just hadn't expected to find a valet in my room."

"I did try to tell them that you weren't the sort of man who would require such a service," Sybil replies. "Though Papa and Carson agreed that it was for you to dispense with Thomas if you saw it fit."

"I'm the last person Thomas Barrow would ever take orders from," he half laughs. "Though I have... dispensed with him... as you say."

"You two know each other, don't you?"

"From the war, yes," Tom replies. He hates this - he hates how strained the conversation between them has become and she almost seems like a completely different person to the one who had shot down her grandmother's barbs at dinner, much to the amusement of himself and her grandmama. "Sybil, does Edgar know about me? About you and I, I mean?"

Sybil nods. "Yes... well, he knows that there was someone before him. Someone whom I loved in every way possible, body and soul. He knows of the grief I felt when that someone was killed and that I carried his child for a time," she tells him. "Though he doesn't know that it's you and I most definitely haven't told him about what happened between us the night before you left for Dublin last week. I'm not sure if I should, but the guilt of what we did eats me up just a little bit more every day."

"Do you regret it?"

"I could never regret a single second that I've ever spent with you," she says, tenderly taking his hand in hers and running her thumb across his knuckles. She feels hot tears sting her eyes as she tries to find the words and muster the courage to say what she has to say. "A part of me will always love you, Tom, but you were right when you said that you weren't the man I fell in love with in Ireland... and I think it's safe to say that I'm not that same girl anymore either."

"Sybil?" he asks with concern when she drops his hand again, his heart breaking as he watches her start to cry.

"I'm so, so sorry, Tom," she sniffs, removing the silver claddagh ring from her finger and pressing it into his palm. "There's somebody out there who deserves this far more than I do... it's time I gave you back your heart at last."


	20. All I Ask of You

_**So this is it - the final chapter. There is an epilogue to come so I'll do all my thankyous and farewells then. One thing I will say is that, even if you hate what happens in this chapter, I need you to keep going until the end... everything will make sense if you do. I know I'm being evil, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It would mean the world to me if you'd let me know what you think, given that it is very nearly the end - I hope you're satisfied with the resolution :) x**_

* * *

_"Say you'll love me every waking moment,_

_Turn my head with talk of summertime._

_Say you need me with you now and always,_

_Promise me that all you say is true._

_That's all I ask of you."_

**_All I Ask of You - The Phantom of the Opera_**

**_Paris, 1918_**

_Harry knows that it's probably a bad idea given Tom's current emotional state but the pair find themselves passing away an evening in a small cafe that he'd visited several times whilst on leave during the war. They order a bottle of wine and some food with money that Tom isn't sure that he wants to know where it came from, brought to them by a buxom young girl with strawberry blonde hair and a twinkle in her hazel eyes. _

_ "She likes you," says Harry, watching Tom drink his wine quicker than he's ever seen anyone drink before. "She hasn't taken her eyes off you since we got here."_

_ Tom gives a non-committal shrug and reaches for the bottle again. _

_ "Steady on, old sport," his friend warns, batting his hand away. "You don't want to get carried away."_

_ "No... no, that's exactly what I want to do," he protests. "I need to get carried away. I need to forget and I just need something to numb the pain because it hurts all the time and I just can't get rid of it, not even when I sleep."_

_ Harry sighs. "I know" he says solemnly. "I feel it too... that great beast on your back that's taken hold and won't let go? He's got me too but I just don't think that this is the right way to deal with it."_

_ While he knows that his friend is probably right, Tom's stubbornness wins out and he chooses not to listen. It's been years since the last time he drank himself into oblivion but, unfortunately for him, it won't be until the morning when he remembers that there was probably a very good reason for that. _

_-xxx-_

_In the end, he doesn't drink nearly as much as he intended to but it's enough to leave him intoxicated. Back at the rooms they've been staying in (Harry had had a chance encounter with someone who owed him a favour - as half or Paris did, by the sounds of it), he's startled to see the landlord's daughter turning down his sheets. _

_ "Bonsoir, monsieur," she says with a smile. She's incredibly pretty with dark hair and grey blue eyes. In his current drunk state and blurred vision, he can't help but think just how remarkably like Sybil she looks. "You're lost, aren't you?" she asks in heavily accented English. "I see it on your face and in your eyes, like I did with those other men like you who fought in the war. You're lost and you're scared and the memory of what happened to you still haunts you even long after you left the battlefield. Do you wish that you had died? Do you wish that you had not survived and your body left to rot beneath our soil because it would mean that you wouldn't have had to deal with all this pain and anger if you had?"_

_ Tom swallows hard and nods feebly. "Oui, mademoiselle," he replies. "How do you..."_

_ She looks up at him tearfully, her eyes filled with a deep sadness that makes his heart ache for this virtual stranger. "My brother, Pierre, God rest him," she says, making the sign of the cross. "He wrote those words to me the day he died. He couldn't stand to be a part of this world anymore and so he... he..."_

_ "It's alright," Tom interrupts, seeing the distress that this is causing her. "I understand," It's not the first time he's heard stories like this - one boy he'd been in the camp with had managed to hang himself from the rafters and he'd heard of men taking their own lives when they were on leave so as not to have to return. _

_ "I know that he sinned in doing what he did," she says, wiping her tears on the back of her hand - she's unsure why she's telling him all of this, but his face seems kind and she needs to say something before it destroys her. "But I still ask God to bless and forgive him because it was that same God... this God we are told to believe is so merciful... who failed him in his hour of need."_

_ Tom nods - what little faith he'd had left had quickly dissolved into nothing the second he first saw war. He wondered how God could have let this go on. how he could watch his children tear each other limb from limb and destroy the world he created for reasons that he wasn't sure anybody had really understood in the end. He looks at her sympathetically and, stumbling slightly, crosses the room and pulls her into his strong embrace. _

_ "You remind me of a woman I know... so kind and forgiving," he says. "She's called Sybil and I..." He's cut short as the girl presses her lips against his._

_ "Then let me be her," she whispers, her accent thick with arousal all of a sudden. "If I could see a smile on that handsome face of yours, just for one night, then I'll be her." In a bold move, she lets one hand slide down his torso and further still until her deft and nimble fingers tease and caress him to an erection through his trousers. He groans and she slips her tongue into his mouth and he can't help but think that the clever minx had this planned all along._

_ "Sybil," he whispers, unintentionally thinking aloud as he remembers the vow that he made to her what seems like a lifetime ago now._

_ "Laure," she corrects, forgetting her offer to pretend to be another woman. "Je m'appelle Laure."_

_ Tom pulls back, breaking their kiss. "Exactly," he says. "You're Laure... you're not her and nobody else ever could be."_

_ Seeing that he's upset, Laure wraps her arms around him and sighs as his head drops to her shoulder and he begins to cry. "You can't go back to her whilst you're like this," she says, rubbing soothing circles across his back. "I don't know your story, but you are weak and broken because of it. Stay, for as long as you need to, and get better. If your lady loves you, then she will wait and she will be all the more thankful for your return when she sees that you've come home fit and healthy."_

_ "But I couldn't afford..."_

_ Laure waves her hand dismissively and says something that he doesn't understand but, from the smile on her face, he can tell that she finds it amusing. "Your friend saved my brother's life in the trenches," she says. "My other brother, Henri... our hospitality is the last we can do to offer our thanks." "Thank you," Tom smiles, genuinely touched by her kindness as he squeezes her hand. "Thank you so very much." Laure may not be Sybil (and nor could her family replace his own), but she is a friend and he needs as many of those as he can get right now. She's absolutely right when she says that he needs time to recuperate - he's been through hell and he needs to be strong if he's to return home and answer the many inevitable questions as to what happened and where he's been without having some sort of breakdown._

_ These are the first steps on a long road to recovery but he knows that the destination will be worth it in the end. _

**_-xxx-_**

**Yorkshire, 1920**

He hands his battered old suitcase to the footman who takes it out to the waiting car - he still hates all of this, but he remembers from his days in service that the lad (a boy of about twenty named Alfred who he has to admit he rather likes) is just trying to do his job and that it's best to let him get on with it. He takes one last look around the opulent hallway and takes in the fragrant smell of the garlands and bouquets of flowers that cover almost every surface. One thing that he's noticed though is that Sybil's favourite - Lily of the Valley - is notably absent from all of these elaborate arrangements, but maybe she's going to have it in her own bouquet. Not that he'll get to see that, of course, as he won't be staying for the wedding anymore - it doesn't seem right somehow and, truth be told, he's not sure that he could stand to watch her marry Edgar.

"Must you go, Mr Branson?" Cora asks as she steps into the hallway, fresh from overseeing arrangements in the ballroom. "We enjoyed your company at dinner last night and it's a shame to see you leave so soon."

Tom nods. "Unfortunately so, Lady Grantham. My mother's taken ill and I'm needed back home in Dublin as soon as possible," he says - it's a lie, but one plausible enough so as not to arouse suspicion. "Please give Lady Sybil and Mr Hewitt my best wishes and send my apologies for not being able to attend tomorrow. I wish them every happiness in their new life together."

"I will," Cora says with a smile - she likes the young Irishman, but she can't shake off the feeling that she's seen him somewhere before. "Though, before you go, might I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"The family you worked for in Ireland, were they by any chance the Donnelley's of County Wicklow?"

"They were indeed."

Cora nods. "I thought I knew you from somewhere."

He smiles politely and can't help but wonder if that's all she recognises and whether she, like her husband (with whom he's mercifully managed to avoid another confrontation), knows of her daughter's affair all those years ago. Of course, none of it matters anymore because the daughter in question has found a good match with a man who could offer her everything that she deserves. However, it's just as shame that there doesn't seem to be that deep, spiritual connection that he and Sybil had shared. Saying that though, he could just be blinded by his heartbreak and fails to see that that their love has manifested itself in an entirely different way. He hopes, for Sybil's sake, that this is the case after all.

"Well," he says. "I really must be going. My thanks again, Lady Grantham." With that, he dons his hat and steps out into the cold spring air and a life without Lady Sybil Crawley.

Cora sighs and looks up to the top of the stairs, only to see her youngest daughter clinging to the arm of her dearest friend, the dashing Doctor Morgan, like her life depends on it and with silent tears streaming down her cheeks. It's a moment of clarity in which everything suddenly makes sense and Cora can't help but wonder, as both a woman and a mother, whether her baby girl is making the biggest mistake of her life.

Watching the exchange between her mother and Tom, Sybil is thankful for the warm, solid figure of Iestyn's body as he comes to stand behind her. There are few people around whom she feels this safe and she's watching one of them leave her life forever with a heart so heavy that she feels like it's made of lead.

"I've made such a mess of things, haven't I?" she asks, her fingers toying with the petals of one of the flowers on the garland wrapped around the banister.

Iestyn sighs. "Things happened in the war that were beyond the control of us mere mortals," he says. "It's no more your fault than it is his."

She cries harder then and the good doctor moves to pull her into his embrace. "But he's such a good man and he deserved so much better from me."

Iestyn isn't quite sure what else he can say to ease his friend's pain and make this better. "It's not too late, you know," he says after a moment's thought. "You can still call this whole thing off and..."

"No!" she interrupts. "No. I **will **marry Edgar tomorrow and I **will** be his wife... I love him."

He doesn't say anything, but Iestyn can't help but be unconvinced by this.

**_-xxx-_**

Thomas twirls the envelope that had been entrusted to him between his fingers as he stares into the flickering flames of the fireplace. The feeling of warmth against his exposed skin isn't entirely unpleasant and he rather thinks that he could get used to it - well, he supposes that he'll have to because the only place he's going for being what he is is straight to hell. That being said, all it takes is one look at the man sitting on the edge of the bed behind him and he knows that eternal damnation is completely worth it.

"He wanted me to give it to her," he says, still unsure whether or not it would be better just to toss it into the fire.

"And so you should," Iestyn replies. "She has a right to know what happened. You care for her, yes?"

Thomas nods. "More than I'd ever admit to anyone, yes."

Iestyn rises from the bed and moves to stand behind his lover, snaking his hands around his waist and dropping his head to kiss his shoulder. "Then you know that this is the right thing to do. You saw what the news of his death did to her and I know how she reacted when he turned up again out of the blue. As I say, she has a right to at least be able to try and understand what was going through his head. You need to give this letter to her."

Thomas feels a chill run down his spine as he remembers the last time he'd interfered in the life of a Crawley daughter - it had been him who had led the Turk to Lady Mary's bed (under duress, mind) and he would have had to have been a fool not to have known what the consequences of such an act would be should the story of what happened that night ever become public knowledge. Flexing the fingers in his wounded hand as best he can, he realises that what Iestyn is saying is right. For perhaps the first time in his life, Thomas Barrow understands what it means to be in love and he can't help but wonder, if that love had been snatched away from him so cruelly as it had been from Lady Sybil, whether he'd want to know exactly what happened too.

"You're right," he says with a sigh and he feels Iestyn's chest rumble with the sound of his laughter.

"I usually am," the Welshman teases as the footman turns to face him. He gently takes the envelope from Thomas' grasp and sets it down on the mantelpiece before sinking to his knees. "Now, all you've done is serve me since I got here... it's about time I returned the favour."

**_-xxx-_**

In another bedroom in another part of the house, two parents lie awake wondering when it was that their three beautiful little girls grew up and reminisce about their childhoods.

"Sybil, married," Robert sighs, suddenly feeling so very old. "I can scarcely believe it."

"Neither can I," Cora replies, her head resting on her husband's shoulder, much as it has near enough every night for almost thirty years. "Though I can't help but wonder if she's doing the right thing."

"Cora?"

I knew there was something familiar about that Mr Branson," she says. "He was the chauffeur for..."

"Your cousin's family in Ireland," Robert cuts in. "Yes, I remember him too... though I suspect for rather different reasons than you."

Cora frowns as she looks up at him in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Mary wasn't the only one of our daughters who had her secrets, and nor were you the only one keeping them."

"If this has something to do with Sybil and Mr Branson then I know... because I know something about them too."

As both parents reveal the secrets that they've both been keeping for all these years, they can't help but realise that they know so little about the life of their youngest daughter.

**_-xxx-_**

That very same daughter awakes some time before dawn with a peculiar feeling in her stomach that she's not sure is on account of nerves of excitement, though she doesn't let them bother her as she knows they're feelings common in every bride on the morning of her wedding. As she pads out of the bathroom, back towards her bed for a few more hours of sleep before the madness begins, she notices a piece of paper on the floor by the door. Curiously, she picks it up and sees that it's an envelope addressed to her on the front but with the words "Forgive me" written on the back. Nerves and excitement are replaced by nausea and dizziness as it suddenly hits her whose handwriting this is and that the paper inside is much older than the envelope it's contained in. This is the letter that ruined everything and, just as she expected, it delivers that crushing blow where he'd called of their engagement. However, what she hadn't expected was that the letter contains some of his deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings. These are thoughts so private that he confessed that he hadn't even been able to reveal in the dark of the night when they'd clung to each other, breaths ragged and skin sweaty, in the darkness after making love when they usually found themselves opening up to each other. Holding the letter close to her chest, she lets his final words sink in to her aching heart.

_"My darling, I will love you until the rivers run dry and the mountains come crashing down. _

_I still dream of our cottage on the beach and your name is the prayer_

_I whisper to the heavens each and every night, pleading to keep me safe. This isn't the end for us. _

_I'll be seeing you. _

_All my love, _

_Tom."_

She weeps then because, after searching for it for so long, she finally has the closure that she needs. Now that she has it, she can set aside this chapter in her life and begin a new one as a bride on the brink of heaven without the chains of her past binding her down. Just as she always believed that she would, she understands why he did what he did and how he'd been motivated by fear and guilt over something far beyond his control.

It's over, it's done, and their story is at an end at last.

**_-xxx-_**

She watches out of the window with a smile on her face as she sees Mary walking towards the car on Matthew's arm - the pair have been inseparable since she returned from America and she hopes with all her heart that there will be an engagement announcement in the very near future. She's so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn't hear the door open behind her until she hears her father's voice.

"Oh Sybil, my darling girl," he says. "You look absolutely radiant."  
Sybil turns to face him with a pretty blush upon her cheeks - even she has to admit that she does make a rather good bride. "You're lucky I'm not wearing trousers," she giggles. "I had thought about having them remade in white."

Robert chuckles. "In all honesty, my dear, it wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest... are you alright?" he asks when she suddenly goes quiet and stares at the floor.

"I'm fine," she says though somewhat unconvincingly. "Honestly..."

"It's alright to feel nervous," her father says, stepping forward and taking both her hands in his. "Especially when it has something to do with a former chauffeur to whom you were almost married, whose child you miscarried and were led to believe was killed in the war only to have return again as a dinner guest in your own home mere days before your wedding."

Sybil stares at her father in utter disbelief. "How do you know?" she asks, her face paling and suddenly feeling incredibly warm.

"Your mother told me," he sighs. "She recognised Branson from Ireland, as did I, and she told me that you had confided in her after what you went through. In return, I told her what I discovered about the two of you that summer... though it seems you've done much worse since then."

"Papa, I... we don't have time to talk about this."

"It's a bride's prerogative to be late for her own wedding," he replies. "As I was saying, while I can't condone you're behaviour, you're not a child anymore and I feel some responsibility... it seems that our neglect as parents..."

"It had nothing to do with you and Mama," she interrupts. "It was love, pure and simple, that led me to Tom. I love him... I will always love him but he's not the one I'm marrying."

"And why is that?"

"Oh really, Papa, I would have thought that obvious by now... I thought Tom was dead, what else was I supposed to do?"

Tucking a loose strand of hair back behind his daughter's ear, Robert looks deep into Sybil's eyes and sees not the strong and resilient woman he's come to know these past few years, but a confused girl who doesn't seem to know what she wants anymore. "It's interesting that you didn't say that it was because you love Edgar."

"But... I do... I mean, I just..." she groans in frustration and turns her back on her father then, all the long suppressed emotion finally released as tears of frustration begin to roll down her cheeks. "I don't know what I want. Oh Papa, can you love two people at the same time?"

Robert shakes his head. "I don't know... as to what you want and what you think you should do, that decision is entirely yours."

"What would you rather me do?"

He pulls his beloved baby girl into a tight embrace then, just as he used to do when she was little and had run to him with a scraped knee or when she awoke from a nightmare and it was the only way to stop her tears and ease her fears. "I would see you do whatever it is that will make you happy... to use your words, pure and simple."

She pulls back from him then and takes a deep breath. "I'm a Crawley," she says. "A daughter of the house of Grantham and I was always brought up to do the right thing. That's exactly what I have to do now... the right thing."

"And what is that exactly?"

She bites down hard on her lip, something she's done when she was contemplating a big decision ever since she was a child. "I'm going to the church..."

**_-xxx-_**

**Nine Months Later**

He's hunched over his desk reading through the latest submission by one of his freelancers - it's late in the afternoon and all he wants to do is go home and sleep. They've been incredibly busy lately and he can't remember the last time he spent more than just a couple of hours away from the office. He adores his job but, every now and then, he yearns for the freedom he had when he too was a freelancer. There's a knock on the door and his secretary, a Miss Wilson from Liverpool who had impressed him with not only her typing skills but her thirst and knowledge for politics, steps into his office.

"A Lady Sybil Hewitt to see you, sir," she says. "I know you weren't expecting her, but she insisted on seeing you."

Tom stands on shaky legs and gives the most feeble of nods in the secretary's direction. He's suddenly very aware of how scruffy he's looking with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his collar loose, ink stains all over his fingers and...

Good God, she looks breathtaking.

"Hello, Tom," she says, sounding uncharacteristically shy. Her leather clad hands are folded across her stomach and she smiles up at him from underneath a peacock blue cloche hat.

His mouth suddenly feels incredibly dry and it feels like such an effort to get the words out that she must think him awfully rude. "Hello, Sybil... I have to say, you were the last person I expected to see here. I thought you'd still be in America."

She shakes her head. "No, we decided to come home for Christmas," she says. "What about you? Are you staying here or going back to Dublin?"

"I'm not sure yet," he says with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "We haven't decided yet."

"We?"  
"Kieran's in London now," he tells her. "I'm not sure how long he plans to stay down here. It all depends on work."

Sybil nods in understanding. "That's nice," she says, pulling off a blue glove from her left hand as she steps closer towards his desk. "For you to have someone here with you now though, I must admit, when you said _we_, I thought that maybe you were married."  
"No, no I'm not married," Tom replies, tearing his eyes away from her hand as he's unable to stomach the thought of seeing another man's ring on her perfectly manicured finger and, from the way she keeps placing her hands near her belly, he's almost certain that she's pregnant. "Though I see that Lady Mary and Mr Crawley finally are."

Sybil laughs then. "Yes... finally," she says. "It was such a beautiful wedding."

"As yours was, I'm sure... what's so funny?" he asks as she raises an eyebrow at him and begins giggling at him.

"Oh, Tom, for a journalist you really aren't very observant," she says, placing her ungloved hand on his arm, forcing him to look down at it at last - it takes him a moment but, when he finally notices what she's trying to show him, his heart starts racing and his brain churning at a million miles a minute.

"You're not... I mean, there's no..."

"No ring," she finishes for him before looking straight into his eyes, her own brimming with tears as she musters the courage to say what she came here to say. "I didn't marry him... I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because I loved you both," replies Sybil, sincerely. "And it just didn't seem right somehow. A very long time ago I told a very dear friend of mine that she should follow her heart because at least then she'd know that she was making a decision based on what she wanted to do and not what other people were telling her to do. I took my own advice for once and did the right thing... it was unfair to lead him on when I was no longer sure that my heart was completely his. I did write to you to try and tell you."

Tom sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I know," he says rather sheepishly. "I burnt your letters as soon as I received them... I'm sorry, that sounds like such a horrid thing to do but I was upset and angry and... you broke my heart, Sybil."

"I know," she replies quietly, staring down at the floor. "And that's why I came here today... to ask for your forgiveness."

Tom leans back against his desk and folds his arm across his chest. "I don't know," he says. "I honestly don't know... can you forgive me?"

"For what?"

"Everything... for what I did during the war, mostly."

"Oh, Tom," she sighs, stepping so impossibly close to him before taking his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his. She panics at first when he doesn't respond, thinking that she's crossed a line and taken things too far, but when he does it's magical - his kiss is like a salve for old wounds and the feel of his hair beneath her fingers as she runs them across his scalp is such a familiar comfort that it's so completely overwhelming that she begins to cry. "Tom, darling Tom, there is absolutely nothing to forgive."

He smiles then, so brightly and genuinely for the first time in so long and his heart feels like it's soaring. He remembers Laure and Diana and the countless other women who had tried to win his affections and how, through it all, he'd only ever wanted the one woman he holds in his arms now - he'd almost lost her because of his own stupidity, because of a letter he was sure he had sent and because of a man who had almost won her heart. At last though, she's here, standing in front of him again and looking at him with so much love in her eyes that he thinks he's going to burst.

"Where have you been these past months?" he whispers into her ear as he pulls her into a tight embrace.

"I took a leaf out of your book and went away for a while," she tells him with a smile. "There was a lot going on in my head and I just needed to think things through before I came back home. I want you to know that I didn't call off my wedding because of you, or even Edgar for that matter, I did it because of me and because I needed... time. I went to Scotland first, to stay with Cousin Shrimpie..."

"Shrimpie?"

"Don't," she says, swatting him playfully on the chest as he laughs at the name her cousin is fondly known by. "Anyway, I went up there for a month or so but I soon tired of it and so I went back to America with Grandmama. She's the one who came back with me... not Edgar."

"And you're not pregnant?"

"Not unless it's the immaculate conception," she says with a look of confusion. "Why?"

Tom shrugs. "Just from the way you were holding your hands across your stomach when you came in and I still presumed you were married."

Sybil brushes prettily and nibbles on her lip. "I'm having another of my clumsy days and spilt something on my coat... we can't all be perfect."

Tom chuckles and leans in to kiss the tip of her nose. "And I'm glad you aren't but, then again, you're perfect to me."

"Perfectly imperfect?"

"No... just perfect," he says, closing his eyes and relishing in the feel of her arms draped around his neck again, her fingers toying with the fine strands of hair at the nape of his neck. "One last thing... why did you come up here under the name of Hewitt if you're not married."

"It was all part of my plan."

"Your plan?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, wrapping his own arms around her waist. "What plan was this?"

"What does it matter? It worked."

"But..."

Sybil groans and he can't help but laugh. "So many questions."  
"And a lifetime in which to answer them."

She pulls back from him then and looks genuinely shocked. "Good heavens, Mr Branson," she gasps, purposefully a little more dramatic than necessary. "Is this a proposal?"

Tom chuckles and shakes his head. "No, not yet," he says. "Though I suppose one could call it a proposal to a proposal. Lady Sybil Crawley, I'm asking you if I can court you properly. No hiding, no lies and no secret meetings... I'll take you out to dinner, to the theatre and wherever else you want to go."

She ponders this thought for a moment before coming up with an answer. "Can we just go to the park and feed the ducks? I used to do it all the time when I was younger."

"If that's what my lady wishes."

"Can we go now?"

Slipping on his jacket, he tells her to wait for just a second as he pops outside of his office. "Miss Wilson," she hears him say. "Cancel all my appointments for the rest of today and tomorrow as well... I have some unfinished business to see to." He takes her completely off guard when he returns back to the office, causing her to squeal with delight as he picks her up off the ground and spins her round in the air. Setting her back down on the ground, he doesn't even give her the chance to catch her breath before he's kissing her again - not that that matters, of course, because their kisses always leave each other breathless anyway. Pulling apart after what seems like an eternity, Tom places one final kiss on her forehead and takes her hands in his again.

"I'm not going to promise you forever," he says. "Because the last time I did that, we made a mess of things. I say we take each day as it comes..."

"One step at a time?"

"One step at a time," he agrees, dropping her hands and brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "I love you so much, Sybil. I always have and I always will."

"And I you, my darling. Always and forever."

She watches him as he puts on his coat and hat before tidying a few things off his desk, more thankful than ever that this wonderful, adoring man had come into her life all those years ago and who still wanted to be with her after all the trials and tribulations they'd been faced with these past few years. She had been wrong to think that their story had ended - theirs was a story of two people brought together by fate and torn apart by war, of first loves, second chances and now, as it seems, third time lucky. It was a story of hope and despair, of tragedy and celebration and, best of all, it was a story that was only just beginning.

"So, will St James' Park suffice, milady?" he asks as, hand in hand, they step outside onto the busy London street.

"Yes, Branson," she says with a smile. "That will do rather nicely."


	21. Epilogue: Every Waking Minute

"_And while Cinderella and her Prince did live happily ever after, the point, gentlemen…is that they lived_."

**_Grand Dame - Ever After: A Cinderella Story_**

**August 1969**

He's not sure whether journalists are getting younger or it's just him getting older - at seventy-eight though, it's probably the latter. Old he may be in terms of numbers, but he doesn't look it - there's still that boyish glimmer in his eyes and smile that could melt the hearts of even the most formidable of opponents. He watches the girl as she studies the book she holds in her hands, the way she runs her hand over the cover and thumbs through the pages that she's obviously read a thousand times already. This is how he's always believed that books should look - well loved and read, not like some of the ones in his father-in-law's library which are left to gather dust and treated like one of the Abbey's many precious antiques.

"I couldn't put it down," she says with a smile as she looks into his eyes. "It's quite easily the best thing I've ever read. Though I think I'm going to need another copy because this one's already falling apart."

Tom chuckles. "I wouldn't worry about it," he says. "The book might not remain intact, but the words and the story they tell will last a lifetime." He genuinely likes this girl, despite the fact that he'd rolled his eyes when his publicist had told him that he should do an interview with the Times to promote it. He didn't want to come across as being a snob, but he thought that people knew his name enough by now to buy it anyway.

"How much of it is actually based on real life events?"

"All of it," he answers honestly, smiling when he sees her eyes widen in surprise. "I haven't even changed the names... well, there are one or two that I couldn't remember, but I think that's fairly understandable at my age."

"So your wife really was an Earl's daughter and you a chauffeur when you met?" she asks. "I'm sorry... I know you're not the sort of man who speaks about his private life very often."

"Then maybe it's time I did if it's what my last book's about."

"This is your last book?"

Tom nods. "I always knew that it would be. You've read it and you know the life that I've led... I think some time to myself is long overdue. The cottage on the beach, I still have it. I think I might go there for a few months."

The journalist smiles. "I'm sure you and your wife have some very fond memories of that place."

"Aye, we do... the whole family, in fact," he says and stares out of the window wistfully. "Though it's not the same anymore... not since Sybil died."

"Oh, I didn't know... I'm sorry."

Tom shakes his head. "Don't be," he says. "She took ill five years ago but it was mercifully quick. It was proof that the worst things happen to the best of people, but she didn't want people to mourn her or tell me that they were sorry for my loss. She wanted her life to be celebrated because she truly was the most remarkable woman I've ever met."

"And beautiful too, by the sounds of it. I have this image of her in my head though I'm sure not even your words do her justice."

Tom chuckles as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket for his wallet and pulls out a tattered old photograph before handing it back to the girl. "Is this how you imagine her to look?"

"Yes," she gasps, bringing a hand up to her mouth as she stares at the photograph. "And, goodness, you were quite handsome yourself."

He laughs as she hands it back over to him. "The years weren't as kind to me as they were to Sybil."

"I beg to differ," she says, only admitting what was known to be on the minds of many women interested in his work. "Though one thing I must ask is what happened to the others? Thomas and Iestyn, Sybil's sisters and everybody else that you write about. I feel as though I know them like they were my own family."

"Thomas and Iestyn are still together," he says. "Of course, up until a few years ago, nobody could know that and it all remained secret. They could only ever really be themselves when they were around Sybil and I which was incredibly sad but I understood exactly how they felt. People shouldn't have to be punished for falling in love."

"You're quite romantic for a revolutionary."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive... anyway I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary. My own family went on just as they always had done; all of them married and had children of their own. Matthew and Mary became Earl and Countess of Grantham and Edith married Viscount Branksome. Some of the parties she and Evelyn used to throw back in the twenties were nothing short of legendary."

"Are you sure you wouldn't consider writing one last book?" she asks hopefully, more as a fan of his work than as an interviewer. "Even if it was just short snippets of life after nineteen-twenty. There seems like so much of your story left to tell."

"We all have chapters we would rather remain unpublished," he tells her. "Though Sybil's diaries were left to our youngest granddaughter in her will. What she chooses to do with them, nobody can be certain."

"She might publish them?"

"Perhaps and, in all honesty, I think I would actually like it if she did."

"I admire you, you know," she says. "Your life fascinates me and I know that it's perhaps clichéd to say it but, you're inspiring."

"If that's the legacy that I'm to leave behind then it's not clichéd at all," he tells her. "In fact, I'd say that's something to be proud of. What's your name, by the way?"

"Martha," she says. "Martha Knightly."

"Well, Martha Knightly, it was a pleasure to meet you and may I give you one piece of advice before I go?"

"Of course."

"Don't ever let anybody ever try to tell you that you aren't good enough, that your dreams are unachievable and your view of the world ridiculous. Have conviction and fight for what you believe in. Yes, you'll make many enemies, but you'll also have the closest allies you could ever wish to have. Be yourself, be wonderful, and I'll be seeing you."

With that, he shakes her hand and leaves. She's heard it said that you should never meet your heroes because they never live up to your expectations but, in Martha's opinion, Tom Branson exceeds them and she may have just fallen a little bit more in love with him than ever before.

_**-xxx-**_

His agent always tells him that he could stay in the city's finest hotels whenever he's in London - just one phone call and he could be in the Ritz or Claridge's but Tom always refuses. After graduating from Oxford and the end of the Second World War, his son Teddy had moved to London to follow in his Uncle Matthew's footsteps and pursue a career in law. He'd been called to the Bar and worked his way up to becoming a QC before recently joining the ranks of the judiciary. He and his wife, Emma, had a beautiful home in an affluent area of the city and he was always made to feel welcome whenever he was visiting. No sooner has he stepped through the door then he's greeted by his sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Mary, who throws herself into his embrace. While she may be as kind and gentle as her grandmother, she's the absolute image of her namesake - her great aunt and the current Dowager Countess of Grantham - save for her eyes which have been passed down, Branson to Branson, for generations.

"Hello, _a stór_, he says," kissing the top of her chestnut waves. "How was your day?"

She rolls her eyes in a way that has also been inherited from the Crawley side of the family. "Alright, I suppose," she says with a weary sigh. "Though I do wish that they'd realise I have no interest in learning how to sew or cook... I just want to write."

He can't help but laugh at just how much like Sybil she sounds. "Give it time," he tells her and smiles in greeting as his son walks into the room.

"Haven't you got a Latin translation to be doing, young lady?" Teddy asks his youngest daughter. Like him, Mary is one of three and his eldest two sons have long since left the nest - twenty-year-old Jack is at University in Edinburgh training to be a doctor and his older brother, James, is a pilot in the RAF. "And turn that racket off."

"It's not racket," she says haughtily as she heads back upstairs in a bit of a huff. "It's David Bowie."

"You shouldn't be so hard on her," says Tom. "Your sisters were the same when they discovered Sinatra."

Teddy chuckles. "I suppose so, but then neither they nor the boys were as much of a handful."

"Perhaps, but your mother was."

"She is like her, isn't she?"

"More than you know."

**_-xxx-_**

He's thankful that one way in which Teddy honours his roots by keeping a bottle of Jameson in his study. As the rest of the house goes about its business after dinner, Tom helps himself to a glass and paces the room. He may not look his age, but he's certainly beginning to feel it - his body are mind are tired and he's beginning to feel the cold hand of death pulling him closer and closer to the afterlife in a way that he hasn't known since his time in the trenches. He pauses for a moment and reaches for one of the many picture frames on the bookshelf - it's the last photograph of the whole family together, taken several years ago at the wedding of one of his grandsons back in Ireland. He stands there with Sybil on his arm and the pair of them are surrounded by their three children, Saoirse, Teddy and Niamh, and their grandchildren (nine of them in all with Mary being the youngest). Since then, Saoirse's youngest has given birth to twins and it makes him sad that their great-grandmother never got to meet them. However, as he'd said to that young journalist earlier, he is a man who has lived many lives and had many stories to tell. He knows now that he's reaching the end of the final chapter and, at last, he is content - once upon a time, he feared death though now he will welcome it with open arms. Taking the photo and the glass, he moves to sit behind his son's desk, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes, giving in to the fatigue that consumes him. He can hear Mary's music drifting out from her bedroom directly above him and he decides that he quite likes it, thinking that this Bowie chap is rather good.

_This is major Tom to ground control, I'm stepping through the door_

_And I'm floating in a most peculiar way _

_And the stars look very different today _

_Here am I sitting in a tin can far above the world _

_Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do_

For the past few nights, he's been having the same dream each and every time he sleeps. In the dream, it's always nineteen-twenty-one and she's there, waiting for him in the cottage on the beach. It all feels so real and he can hear the sound of the gulls circling overhead and smell that familiar saltiness of the sea as the waves crash against the shore. She waits for him and he tells her everything that she's missed - of their children and grandchildren, and it warms his heart to know that she's watching over the twins. Each and every time though, she has to leave. She urges him to wake up, even though he doesn't want to, before kissing him goodbye and stepping out of the door onto the beach where he can't follow.

Feeling his aching muscles begin to relax, he lifts his glass to his lips and finishes the last of the amber liquid - it's a taste of home that warms him from head to toe. He feels his heart begin to slow and he knows that she will be there, waiting for him, just as she always has been. He has done his duty - he has told their story, atoned for his sins and left a legacy that will be remembered long after he is gone.

_Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles, I'm feeling very still _

_And I think my spaceship knows which way to go _

_Tell my wife I love her very much, she knows_

They say that your life flashes right before your eyes as you're about to die and, with a smile on his face and a song in his heart, Tom Branson would have to agree...

Because the only thing he sees is her.

**_-xxx-_**

The mid-morning sun streams in through the curtains, waking him from a deep and peaceful slumber. The crisp white cotton sheets are tangled around his naked limbs and his muscles ache in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant - he remembers those aches and looks upon them fondly, for it's a small price to pay for the sheer pleasure that being with his wife brings them both. Slipping on a pair of trousers and an undershirt, he pads into the kitchen with a broad smile on his face as he sees Sybil leaning against the doorframe and staring out across the beach and towards the horizon. He takes a moment just to marvel at her beauty - her short hair falls in messy waves and she's forgone stockings underneath the simple blue dress that she wears, cut just above the knee and with one of his cardigans over the top to protect her against the slight chill.

"Good morning," she smiles, clutching her teacup between her hands. "You slept well."

He nods, despite it being more of a statement than a question, and crosses the room to draw her into a tight embrace. "I missed you," he says, kissing her temple. "So very much."

Sybil sighs happily as she reacquaints herself with the feel of her husband's arms around her again. "And I you," she says. "Though now we never have to say goodbye."

"So... it happened?"

"Yes," she says, pleasantly surprised by how much he seems to have accepted death, almost as though he's greeted it like an old friend. "I'm so proud of you, Tom."

"Why?"

"For doing what I asked," she replies, setting down her cup on the worktop and reaching up to push his hair back from his face. "For telling our story even though I knew how much it would hurt you..."

Tom silences her with a kiss. "It had to be done," he says. "For my own penance more than anything. It was the final act and the one that brought me back to you."

She smiles mischievously at him them, the sombre moment seeming to have passed, and she tugs on his hand. "Come with me," she says. "There's something I've wanted to do for a long time."

He follows her down to the beach, the pair of them running barefoot across the sand and through the surf as they laugh and play like the young lovers they never really had the chance to be. War and its aftermath had stolen their youth from them but it seems at last that they have the chance to live those years at last (though it seems somewhat ironic that it's death which has afforded them that opportunity). As he stands in the water with his arms around her, Tom muses on the conversation he'd had with Martha about clichés - he'd never been one to believe that heaven was white clouds and pearly gates, but surely being reunited with the person you loved more than anyone or anything was just as obvious? In all honesty, he doesn't care though, just as he doesn't care about what happens next. It doesn't matter whether it's heaven or home but, the main thing is, he's back at her side where he belongs.

"You know, you once promised me that you would devote every waking minute to my happiness," Sybil says as she looks at him over her shoulder.

"And did I?"

"More than you'll ever know," she replies. "I just hope that I did the same."

"Of course you did, _mo ghrá_, of course you did."

An idealistic boy with dreams above and beyond the world he'd been into had once asked a pretty girl to dance at a wedding in the summer of nineteen-fourteen and neither of them could possibly have known what the future had in store. They'd certainly had some adventures in their time and this journey into the unknown is just another in that very long line but it's here, on the shores of the sea that had first brought her to him all those years ago, where this great love story comes to an end at last. The tale of the Lady and the chauffeur is as timeless today as it ever was, and their story will live on in the hearts of those who knew it long after they left this world.

Whether in this life of the next, just remember...

They'll be seeing you.

**THE END.**

* * *

_**And there you have it.**_

_**What a journey this has been - from an idea that I toyed with over a year ago now, to the amazing encouragement I had to continue when I'd given up and now at the close of the final chapter. It didn't follow the plan that I had in mind but I think that it's even better and I could not have done it without you, my loyal readers and friends. I'm actually getting really emotional now because I've really thrown everything I've got into this story and it's drained me in every way imaginable. I know I've put you through the wringer and the ending was a bit cliched, but I just hope it was worth it and there is the potential for more stories to be told from this universe and so, with that, I think there's only one more thing I can say...**_

_**Thank you, and I'll be seeing you.**_


End file.
